


Heroes are Hard to Find

by kittenCorrosion



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Blood and Violence, Chicago, F/M, Mob Bosses, Non-Consensual Drug Use, SEASON THREE SPOILERS probably, Set in the 90s, Sexual Content, aged up to mid 20s, barista El, grad student Mike, has daredevil/jessica jones vibes, i am so sorry about the summary being what it is, it's kind of like a superhero crime story with kidnapping and drug use but also a love story, mileven-centric, superhero au, this sounds so graphic and grim but it's not that bad lol, warnings are important okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenCorrosion/pseuds/kittenCorrosion
Summary: Chicago has always been dangerous, despite the mysterious masked hero who seems intent on trying to keep it safe. When Jane Ives, better known as Eleven, runs into a person from her past, she doesn't expect it to end up leading her to new friends, or to the black heart of the city's most dangerous people. She definitely doesn't expect it to lead her to the beautiful man who sits in her coffee shop, who she can only seem to let herself get close to when she has her mask on.Despite the distance she's kept all her life, her world is threatened, her heart too eager for love. But the monsters in the shadows will do whatever it takes to get what they want. Her. And not even Eleven's powers can keep her safe this time.So what will?





	1. I'm just a girl in the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nobody fuckin' asked but i'm still pissed as hell after s3 so i'm diving straight into AUs because the duffers can't ruin anything in here lol. i know i have another badly abandoned AU just throbbing to be finished but i've lost interest in it because it was based heavily on a mileven that doesn't feel right anymore. sorry.
> 
> anyways, i have like, a good portion of this written and almost all of it planned out because i'm trying to be less of a dumbass and actually make outlines so everything makes sense. oof i'm being hard on myself today. but i just want to better as a writer and here's a chance to grow.
> 
> um... i tagged pretty much everything you need to know, so if you're ready, jump on in. this one has been fun, i hope you like it.

It was six o’clock in the fucking morning and the Quarry was already packed with tired, cranky people. The line was almost to the door and they were extra snappy today, only making Jane’s mood worse. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t making lattes and giving back change as fast as she could, but the business suits still glared at her as she foamed their milk and poured their espresso shots, as though she was intentionally trying to be slow.

She was running on three hours of sleep. It wasn’t really her fault, not entirely. When Hopper had given her the tip that a couple of kingpins were meeting at Castle Art Gallery, she hadn’t expected to do more than observe and see who was there. She hadn’t expected Martin “Doc” Brenner—the biggest mob boss currently still breathing in Chicago—to show up. She hadn’t expected every damn door and window in the place to be boarded up. And she hadn’t expected the place to be run by _Will frickin’ Byers._

“Ouch!” she hissed, pulling back her burned finger from the hot metal milk pitcher. 

The woman who’s caramel breve she was currently making shot her a look, pursing her lips as if the barista’s burnt skin mattered less than her need for caffeine. Jane almost glared back but instead just sighed and finished making the drink before shoving her burnt digit under the cold tap and then shaking it off. It didn’t hurt as bad as the throbbing bruise on her hip, or the slice across her left shoulder blade that pulsed and pulled each time she made a drink.

All she’d wanted to do last night was eavesdrop, learn what Brenner’s plans were, find out if he was connected to the new drug that had been creeping into the streets. She’d needed the damn lughead capos to take a piss for five seconds so she could slip into the gallery, a silent, superpowered ghost, and find a dark, quiet corner to listen in. 

It wasn’t her fault that when that break had happened, she’d run headfirst into Will Byers, and she’d been so utterly shocked by the sight of him—her mind flashing back to being twelve and sitting in a homemade fort in the woods during _that_ summer—that she’d lost her concentration, her usually careful restraint slipping. There was no way he’d recognized her. It had been almost fourteen years since they’d been two quiet, lost kids. And of course she was wearing her mask and suit, the 011 emblazoned across her chest in black and white, so if he saw anyone, it was just… Eleven.

But she’d been stupid. Worse than stupid. She’d been _familiar_. 

She’d said his _name_. And that had fucked up everything.

One of the goons had come around the corner, behind her, and seen them, heard her say his name. And her whole plan had gone to shit.

She sighed, stifling a groan as she made change for twenty, her mind stuck in the endless circle, unable to think about anything that wasn’t her colossal fuck up. Hopper was going to kill her. It was a double hit since not only was he her informant, but the only father figure she’d ever really had. Disappointing him _sucked_. And last night she’d not only exposed her involvement in trying to get upside down off the streets, but she’d accidentally roped in an innocent civilian. 

_If_ he was innocent.

Jane had analyzed every explanation as to why Will had allowed goddamn _mobsters_ into his art gallery, but she had yet to actually look up any evidence. When she’d made it home last night she’d barely been able to do more than hop in the shower to wash the blood off her knuckles and clean her wounds and then fall into bed. The second her shift was over she was heading home to snoop around and find out why Will had done what he’d done. Hopper probably would too pissed to help her, unless…

 _Once I point out he’s Joyce’s kid, he’ll crack,_ she figured. _He’s still got that soft spot_. 

It was part of what made the whole thing so weird. Out of the literal millions of people living in Chicago, she somehow managed to find the two she knew of from Hawkins, Indiana. She’d only spent one summer there, mostly hidden in the cabin, out of sight as she learned to control her newfound abilities. Other than Will and Hopper and maybe Mr. Melvald, she didn’t know anyone else. And yet by some weird twist of fate, Will had ended up in Chicago too. 

The thoughts and worries and exhaustion swirled around in her mind during her entire shift, bouncing back and forth until her brain felt raw. The morning turned into afternoon. She felt drained, grateful for her break where she ingested her own cup of black dark roast, the caffeine helping to keep her pounding exhaustion headache at bay. It was the one thing she hated about her double life, being tired all the time. Fighting crime at night and putting on a show of normality during the day. 

That and the utter loneliness. 

Vigilante business meant not having any friends or close relationships. No potential weaknesses. No targets. She couldn’t even get a cat.

If her identity was compromised, anyone she knew, even Hopper, could be in danger. It wasn’t worth the risk, and there was enough for her to do anyways, she didn’t have time to invest in any sort of relationship outside of her secret life. It didn’t keep her from crying over her cheesy soap operas and romcoms and novels. Which she taped daily during her shifts so she never got behind, watching them as she iced her ribs or picked glass out of her knees. 

It was the little things, that kept her going. But despite knowing better, her heart was still too soft, and sometimes her big superhero act was returning a stolen dog and watching a child smile. Leaving pervs and criminals outside of the precinct was never as satisfying as the warm hugs from strangers, and maybe more than anything that was kept her going. It was a damn shame. Being the mysterious, hardened, criminal-catching superhero was hard enough without being all soft. But she was and she knew if anything would end up getting her killed, it would be that.

Last night had almost proved that.

“Um, excuse me?” 

She’d been staring into space but the voice shook her from her dazed thoughts and she glanced up at the man standing in front of her, not really looking. “Yes?”

“Sorry, I just ordered a cappuccino and you’ve kind of just been…” He almost sounded embarrassed for her and Jane felt a flare of irritation. “...standing there.”

“Right, sorry. Let me get that made for you,” she said robotically, not even bothering to look at his face. Her shift ended in an hour but she was already mentally done. Her bed was screaming her name from her apartment a few blocks away. She could hear it. “Was that a large or a regular?”

“Large,” he answered, then cleared his throat. “You’ve had a long day?”

“Long night. And that makes the day long,” she shrugged. She wasn’t really in the mood to talk and she hoped that would shut him up.

“Gotcha. You a student?”

“No,” she answered flatly, finishing his drink and reaching for a lid.

“So then—”

“Here you go, have a nice day,” she interrupted, wanting the interrogation to end.

She held out the cup, finally bothering to look up at the guy who wouldn’t just let her work in peace. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t what she saw. He was tall, at least six foot if not taller, and pale with a dark mop of hair and freckles and warm, hot chocolate eyes. His fingers brushed hers as he took the cup and she just blinked, surprised at how _cute_ he was. He wasn’t dressed in a business suit, but had on a pair of jeans and button-up underneath a baggy sweater. A green and brown satchel dotted with pins crossed his broad chest and as their eyes met he smiled, more warmly than she probably deserved.

 _Shit_ , she breathed _, he’s actually hot, what the hell?_

“Thanks,” he said simply.

And then he turned, heading to one of the corner tables and then pulling out a ridiculous amount of books and notebooks and settling in. He glanced over and she quickly looked away, feeling stupid. He was just a cute guy. A beautiful man. They existed. No reason to get all flustered. She quickly went back to work, grabbing a tea bag and a scoop for the next customer, shrugging the encounter off. 

The last hour of her shift inched by and despite how stupid she thought it was, she couldn’t help but glance over at the mystery guy in the corner. More than once. Many times, actually. Her observational skills took in every detail, memorizing the way he jiggled his leg as he frowned down at his books, as if trying to understand something. If spying on people wasn’t part of her training she might have felt weird, but she was mostly just curious. 

However, the second it was three-thirty, she clocked out and didn’t give it another thought. It was time to do some research, aka bothering Hopper until he went to the precinct and dug up the files she would need. He was good at that. Digging. 

And then maybe some sleep? Probably not. 

She wanted to know everything about the gallery, when it was built, when Will had bought it, if it had any historical significance to Brenner or if it had just been a place to do a deal that had that weird ambiance he seemed to like. But she also needed to know the local gossip and for that there was only one place. 

Curiosity Door Comics was probably Jane’s favorite place in the city. It was the best place to pick up the newest issue of _Catwoman_ or _Sandman_ or that new _Daredevil_ series that Dustin had told her was good. Hopper was her official informant, an in with the cops that kept her up to date on what was happening on the scummy underbelly of the city. Dustin Henderson, however, knew all of the unofficial happenings. As a business owner and tech geek, he kept up to date on message boards, staying a step ahead of inspections and learning about other businesses closing and popping up. He didn’t know it, but their gossiping sessions had helped her catch a whole ring of sex traffickers that had been setting up temporary brothels under the guise of massage parlors. She didn’t know who he was or where he was from, and she didn’t _want_ to know. But he was friendly and funny and was always up to debate Superman vs Batman and if Wolverine was really the best X-Men or not. 

The doorbell jangled as she walked into the shop, the scent of ink and paper filling her nose and making her relax. Mews was snoozing on her cat tree next to the new releases shelf and Jane walked over and gave her a head scratch, eyes scanning the brightly colored comic book covers. 

“New _Sandman_ is top left,” a familiar lisping voice said behind her. She would have startled if she hadn’t heard the creak of the floor as he came out from the back thirty-two seconds ago. Instead she reached for the new issue, plucking it noiselessly from the shelf and smiling at the cover. 

“Is it good?” She turned to him.

“Crazy good. Gaiman is a genius. You’re going to love it,” Dustin grinned, his usual thin-lipped smile. “But I won’t spoil it. Anything else you wanted, or just the usual?”

Jane moseyed over to the counter, leaning against it and setting the comic down, shrugging casually. He was easy enough to get talking, and once he started, he wouldn’t stop. It was all about suggestion, seeing what he would say if she mentioned one thing, acting just interested enough to keep him going on something before subtly switching the subject, tweaking the conversation just so. It was manipulation, she realized, and you weren’t supposed to manipulate your friends. 

It was a good thing they weren’t actually friends.

“Is there anything other than the usual that I should want?”

“Well, I got something called _Preacher_ I just unboxed,” he drawled, tapping his fingers on the glass countertop. The case beneath them was filled with rares and first editions, some from Dustin’s own collection, the prices too ridiculously high to actually buy. “But I have a feeling you’re wanting the news.”

“What’s new?” It was her usual opener. 

“Hmmm… Hansen’s Deli closed. There was a rumor they had rats but no proof, kind of a shame. They had the best pastrami,” he sighed sadly before moving onto the next thing. “But a new pizza place is coming, so I guess I can’t complain too much. Since the last one that was close actually _did_ get shut down by health inspectors. Which explains how me and my roommates got food poisoning so many times.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah… I probably should have figured that out sooner.”

“What about that art gallery? Off of seventh?” She let her fingers trace the scratches on the glass beneath her elbows, casual. “A friend mentioned they were thinking of going, is it worth it?”

Dustin’s entire demeanor brightened at that, grin widening. “Oh, you mean Castle Gallery? You should definitely go. My buddy owns it, actually. It’s an extension of the one in NYC that his brother runs but—” He lowered his voice. “It’s not doing as well and Will’s been kind of stressed about money. It’s all he talks about at home.”

Jane suddenly felt her stomach clench, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up . “At… home?”

“Yeah, yeah we’re roommates. Him and our other two friends, we all share this house that was Lucas’s great-aunt’s or something. Splitting the rent means it’s like, three hundred a month and it’s got four rooms and two baths so we actually don’t have to fight over space,” he nodded happily. “It’s handy since we’re all still working on our own things anyways. Big ol’ bachelor pad with my best buddies since elementary school! Doesn’t get much better than that.”

Every vein in Jane’s body felt like ice. Dustin was Will’s friend. And Will lived with him and his other two best friends. She’d never met them, never had faces to put to the names, but she knew who they were.

_“I… I could bring my friends sometime,” Will offered, voice interrupting the stillness as they both sat in the little wooden structure. He’d been busy drawing, sitting on the mattress with his legs crossed, colored pencils creating masterpiece, but now looked at her, unsure. “They’re really nice. I bet they’d like you.”_

_Jane stared him, blinking. She’d been reading a magazine he’d brought her, something with pretty people on the cover called “Teen Beat”. Some of them she’d seen on TV before and she’d hungrily read the first two issues already, halfway through her third. But at his suggestion she lowered it._

_“I can’t, Will. I shouldn’t even be here with you right now. I could get in trouble,” she said carefully._

_He didn’t know the full truth. That her mother had brought her to her hometown, lost and unsure, after her daughter had started getting nosebleeds and, more worryingly, telekinesis. Her powers had manifested after the mother and daughter had been held at gunpoint. Jane had been scared, scared of the man, of what he might to do her, of what he might do to her mother. And then she’d been angry, as her mom handed over her purse and what meager money was inside of it. The man had been unhappy, shoving the gun in her face and Jane had screamed, thrown her hand out, felt an unknown pressure build in her temples and_ —

_The next thing she knew she woke up, cradled in her mother’s arms, the body of the thug crumpled in the alley, neck twisted._

_Terry Ives had panicked, unsure of what to do but wanting to protect her daughter. So she’d gone home, to Hawkins, Indiana, heading for the house of the only man left in the world who she could trust._

_Hopper had hidden Jane, in an old cabin out in the woods, sitting with his old friend as the young girl tentatively crushed an empty can. He hadn’t looked scared, or disgusted even, but his brow had furrowed in concern and he’d given Terry a worried look._

_He’d let them stay, coming up every other day and helping her test her abilities, to see how far she could push them, find out all that she could do._

_And with her discovery of what power lived within her, her mother made one too. Of the blackness that had infected her lungs and throat, that had been poisoning her slowly for years, unnoticed._

_She’d had two months._

_Hopper had kept them as comfortable as possible but Jane would escape, needing to get away from the sound of her mother’s wheezing and the smell of death in the cabin. She’d stayed in the woods, heeding Hopper’s warning to go unnoticed, but had found sanctuary in a small, lopsided fort. When Will discovered her there she had been scared she’d be found out but instead of trying to throw her out or being suspicious, he’d asked if she was okay or lost and then nodded when she only shook her head._

_“Just getting away?” he asked._

_She nodded._

_“That’s okay. I have to get away sometimes too. My name is Will Byers. You can stay if you want, I was just going to draw anyways.”_

_It had been like that for a few days. She would stay silently with him, watching him draw pictures of knights and wizards, amazed at his talent. He would talk to her, tell her about the D &D campaigns he had with his three friends. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. How they would go to the arcade or the pool or just riding their bikes through town to get comics and ice cream. It had filled the silence, filled her lonely soul. And slowly, over a few weeks, she spoke to him, telling him of the big city she called home and her sick mother and her fears of what would happen next. He’d never pried or made her feel weird for being secretive, instead just listening and patting her hand and offering her a bite of the sandwich he’d brought. _

He had been her first real friend, even in the few brief months they’d shared.

How was she supposed to know that this Dustin—the one who joked about which X-Men wore the skimpiest outfit and let her feed Mews cat treats sometimes—was the same Dustin her only childhood friend had told her about? They were nowhere near Hawkins anymore, and yet somehow she couldn’t keep these people out of her orbit.

And Dustin lived with Will, along with the other two, so if Will was getting involved with Brenner and the underworld of the city, they could all be in danger.

But was he purposely getting involved?

It took her a moment to process, all he’d said and her memories and the realization of how much she stood to lose. There was no way she couldn’t see this through now. She needed to know more.

She cleared her throat. “So, um, you said he’s been struggling for money?”

“Yeah…” Dustin let out a sigh. “It’s been hard getting artists to rent wall space. Attendance has been low, or at least people with money who will buy the art and so… bills are piling. Luckily some bigwig rented the place out last night for a private event and he made enough to keep it going for another few months.”

“Lucky,” she choked out.

But why there? If he was low on money, it would make sense as to why he’d taken the engagement. Any money was good money when you were only a few more weeks away from going bankrupt. As alarmed as she was at how close all the favorite people in her life were to danger, she felt relieved knowing he hadn’t done it because he was in bed with the criminals. He was just desperate to keep his business open. And they’d needed a place to make their deals, somewhere that wasn’t suspicious, somewhere with wine and art and a comfortable atmosphere that would please bosses and lackeys alike. A one time deal. 

And she’d fucked it up for him. 

“Um, well, I hope things get better for him,” she managed, grabbing her wallet from her purse. “I need to head home, can I get this?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He rang her up, the chatter dying as she tried to keep her mind from being overloaded with all the new data that was being processed. It had been messy, her mistake last night, but now it had just become considerably more complicated.

With a final smile she tucked her comic under her arm and left the shop, heading to the bus stop and sitting down to wait. What would her first move be? She wanted to strap on her boots and mask and head over to the gallery first. See if they’d left anything behind. No—wait, she needed to get Will’s address and make sure he was okay. She was the one who had put him in danger, she needed to check on him. And his roommates. And, god, if someone was there, what would she do? 

It was too much. Too many voices all at once, and she didn’t know how to make sense or figure out what her plan should be. There was the only thing she could do.

She needed to talk to Hopper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's a little on the shorter side but they get longer as they go. we all start somewhere. i'm trying not to jump the gun and post it all at once. pacing is good. pacing is hard lol.
> 
> i'm realizing how boring this all seems but i've been so excited i just kind of forgot it's got a slow start? idk, i was trying not to spoil anything which is why the summary is so fuckin weird and the tags are so standard. it'll be better when things are revealed in time.......... i hope.
> 
> shout out to laura for the title because i spent literally many hours trying to come up with one and she spitballed and boom. idk what i would do without her. thank you laura!
> 
> updating goal is very 2-3 weeks to give myself time to keep up with writing so i can adjust things in past chapters if need be. i would love a comment if you have the time, i just like to see what your thoughts are. i know it's been a million years since i cranked out any mileven but i am ready. 
> 
> -g
> 
> p.s. find me on instagram if you want @kittencorrosion for angry rants about s3 and dumb memes. sometimes i even respond to dms wow what a concept.


	2. Wake up kids, we've got the dreamer's disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i've been so mad at the duffers because of season three i wasn't even sure i was going to keep writing. i got like super depressed, and my immune system crashed, and i got super sick, and now i'm back and i'm still mad but i'll never let anyone else's bad writing ruin what i love about stranger things. there's my official statement i guess lol.
> 
> anyways i was supposed to update yesterday but i forgot and was tired and went to bed, so sorry about being a day late but i did a pretty big overhaul on this chapter and it's so much more fun than it was before. i've been playing with jumping around to different POVs instead of sticking to just one the whole way through and i think it really does help. see for yourself.
> 
> mileven ahoy!

“So.” 

Jim Hopper sat across from Jane at the small, two-person table, tan police chief uniform and fedora on, holding a cup of coffee and looking somewhere between exasperated and enraged. “Let me get this straight. Brenner, O’Bannon, Owens, _and_ Frazier—the most wanted and feared people in this entire city—were all at this art gallery? Potentially discussing the distribution of upside down?”

“Yes.” Jane winced at the bite in his voice. 

“And said art gallery is owned by Will Byers, Joyce Byers’ son?”

“...Yes.”

“And instead of telling me any of this through a quick phone call, you charged in the by yourself and got your ass kicked and on top of that, alerted both Will _and_ all of these dangerous criminals that you somehow _know him_?!”

She sighed, knowing she deserved to be yelled at… at least a little bit. “Yes, Hopper, I know, it was stupid but I didn’t know Will owned the place, or that he would _be_ there! I was just trying to shadow in and get as much info as possible. And then report back to you, like we planned. He… surprised me.”

The older man scratched at his scruffy beard. There was more grey in it with each passing year and it made Jane feel… odd. Hopper had always been around. To give her advice or information or, occasionally, a hug, when the mission went south and the innocents couldn’t be saved. The thought of him growing old, of being mortal, was weird to consider. There wouldn’t ever be a time in her life when he couldn’t be there.

“Either way, it’s bad news for Will, kid.”

Jane ground her teeth together. “I _know_ , Hop. Dustin told me Will’s strapped for cash and that’s probably why he accepted the rental, I don’t think he’s actually connected to any of them.” She fidgeted with her own cup of coffee, feeling tired again. Her ten minute power nap hadn’t been enough. “There’s no way he’ll know my true identity. And I even kicked him over before I was swarmed, maybe they didn’t even hear me. Maybe he’ll be fine…” 

She wasn’t even convincing herself. With a sigh she pushed her empty mug away from her, daring to let Hopper’s disappointed gaze burn through her as she proposed her new plan. A pacifier for him, maybe, and a way to make herself feel a little less guilty.

“I was thinking I’d stake his place out tonight, keep an eye on the streets and see if anything seems threatening. Just for a few days, maybe. If they come for him I can stop them and keep him safe. Send him home to Indiana, all of them, if I need to.”

“What, you going to scare them back?” Hopper snorted, not willing to let it go yet. “Those four boys stick together no matter what. The problem is that only one of the four is in any way intimidating…” 

“I’ll do whatever I need to keep them safe. It’s my fault they’re in this at all…” Her voice shrank at the end, eyes dropping to the battered wooden table. 

At that Hopper sighed. “It’s not totally your fault, Jane. Will is the one who agreed to let them into his place of business. There would have been some sort of fallout regardless. Don’t go… beating yourself up too much.”

She managed to hold back a sniffle as she finally looked up and met his eyes.

&&

Hopper hated when she looked so damn _sad_. As if she didn’t spend the last three years out every night, fighting the demons he couldn’t. 

He took a long sip of his coffee, weathered-blue eyes staring at her over the rim of the mug. He always told her to take it easy on herself. That just because she had powers didn’t mean she was responsible every time something bad happened. He’d watched her grow up, the weight of her abilities on her shoulders. Had taught her to fight, so she didn’t have to use her powers for everything, kept her in the know, tried to help guide her.

It had been Terry’s dying wish, as her lungs rattled with disease, she’d made him promise to watch over her daughter and keep her safe. He’d become her guardian, helped her bury her mother in her hometown before taking her back to a bigger city, training her in old warehouses and rail yards, helping her to control her emotions that could cause electrical outages and power surges if she wasn’t careful. It had been twelve years since then, and she’d gone from a small, young, innocent child who held more power than anyone he’d ever known to… a strong, intelligent young woman with a thirst for justice and the need to _help_. 

He had tried to keep his promise to her mother, keeping her safe by warning her, using his position to prevent her from taking on things that were too big.

And now she was going after the biggest monsters in the city. With old friends in the mix.

Hopper shifted in his chair, the old wood creaking as he crossed his leg, taking another sip of his coffee. Will Byers and his three friends. He’d known them as kids, riding their bikes around town, coming over while he and Joyce had dinner at her place and talked. They were good kids, young men now, but he hadn’t known they were in the city. Hawkins had been a long time ago. 

He wasn’t surprised, in a way, that Jane had snuck out and somehow befriended Will. If there were any two kids in the world who needed someone to just be there, it was them. He wasn’t mad at the two twelve year olds from the past, so much as the young adults who were now hurtling themselves into danger with no thought of how it would affect their families. 

It worried him. But Jane’s plan… this could be the perfect way to keep all of them out of harm’s way.

“I say it’s a solid plan, kid. Keep an eye on Will and his buddies for the next few weeks. Brenner is a patient man, he won’t strike against them until he knows he’ll succeed. But he might not expect you to be watching,” he nodded. “If he decides that he wants to pursue it at all. Maybe you’re right, nobody heard, and Will isn’t even in their sights. But keeping an eye out for a while… it wouldn’t hurt.”

_Maybe, for once, I can keep them safe._

&&

Jane sipped her coffee again, the warm liquid unable to melt the knot of icy fear in her chest, the fear she held for Will. Brenner was no small fry, she’d seen the leftovers from his dealings before. But getting Hopper’s blessing to become guard dog put her at ease. “And you’ll keep investigating upside down, right? Let me know if any more pops up?”

Hop nodded. “We’re keeping an eye out, so far there hasn’t been more, but it’s been consistent in the same places. Mostly Englewood so far, so tell your superpowered pal to keep her eye out if she can.”

“I haven’t seen Kali in months. She’s been busy, I guess,” Jane shrugged. ”Ever since I told her she could keep an eye out for leads for me, she’s been quiet. But I could contact her if you want.”

“Eh, don’t bother. But if you see her, give her a warning. I don’t like her, but I don’t think her getting attacked by zombies on this drug would help either.”

Kali had been around before Eleven even existed. At the thought of another super, she’d kidnapped Jane, using a group of helpless kids as a trap, but had actually just been eager to meet another like her. Their moral compasses, however, didn’t align, and in the end they were acquaintances more than friends but Jane had to admit it felt comforting knowing she wasn’t alone in the world. She knew about the others, at least. 

“Will do.” She let out a long breath, moving to stretch and wincing as it tugged her scabbed cut. “I guess I better get home and get ready.”

“Sounds good. I’ll radio if there’s anything new.”

She set her mug in the sink and then showed herself out. They lived in the same apartment complex, but she had moved out the second she’d turned eighteen, not because she didn’t like living with him but mostly to help protect her identity. She hadn’t actually become a “superhero” until about three years ago, but she’d been in what she now called her “Peter Parker” years. Skulking about the city in a ski mask and jacket, stopping muggers and kicking rapists in the dick. She’d been sixteen, seventeen maybe, when she’d started, and when Hopper had found out he’d been _pissed_. It was hard to blame him.

How could he keep her safe when she was deliberately putting herself in harm’s way? 

The training had been for discipline. To help her control the power in her mind. She knew he hadn’t intended for her to take it to the streets. 

Those had been hard years. She’d been sloppy, getting too involved, getting others involved. Not valuing the anonymity of her identity. And people had died, innocent ones. Hopper had moved them across the city three times in three months, trying to keep her safe. So, to keep him safe, she’d moved out. And she’d learned how precious life was and the people in it. How protecting them was more important than anything. 

It was a compromise at most. 

She unlocked her apartment and shivered as she stepped in, flicking on the light. Fall’s chill was just starting to seep into the September nights and she made a mental note to get out her thermals to wear under her suit now that it was going to get cold again. 

It was going to be a long night. 

&&

The Quarry was less busy the next morning, and Jane was more than grateful. She’d staked out Will’s house from midnight to five AM and she was so wiped she could barely walk. There were currently three cups of coffee swimming in her veins, keeping her upright, but she had no idea how she was going to keep this up for the next few days, probably weeks. 

_Weeks_. 

She was going to have to talk to Benny about working late shifts because there was no way she could survive on two to three hours of sleep. 

Her eyes drifted over to the corner, where the cute guy from the other day was currently sitting, surrounded by his books. He’d been there when she’d started her shift, sipping out of a mug and not really paying attention to anything that wasn’t his tomes of knowledge and several notebooks that he periodically scribbled in. It had been slow enough she’d been able to watch him now and then, wondering who he was, what his story was, what was he studying so hard for?

She was starting to regret snapping at him, but there had been enough obnoxious men who had hit on her _while she was working_ that she hesitated to even be friendly some days. But god damn it, he was just so _cute_. 

His mop of dark hair contrasted with his milky skin, cheekbones sharp enough to slice a piece of paper. And his eyes were somehow warm and dark… warmer than she’d ever seen. 

But there was no point. She couldn’t be making personal connections with people. Doing that—barely, or even as a child—had already endangered enough people. Friendship was out of the question, let alone _dating_ anyone. 

At least she was allowed to look. 

It made her shift easier, having a distraction to keep her from falling back into the spiral of worry and exhaustion. The night had been uneventful, thankfully, and she’d spent it sitting on the cold roof in the shadow of one of the window’s of the two story house, listening to the low, masculine rumble of laughter and conversation from inside, ears straining for any sign of danger. She had seen the shapes of Will and Dustin and another figure, move in and out of the house, as well as the sound of someone moving around inside. Four. 

Her instincts had counted over and over, making sure there was never more or less. The warm light spilling from the window to her left was occasionally filled with a tall shadow, the blinds shifting, and some part of her had sighed at the sound of the friends inside. Wanting something like that, to be able to be close to people and share a sense of belonging. And when the house had finally gone quiet and still, windows darkening, she had still felt an odd warmth emanating from inside, four cozy, innocent men, tucked safely into their beds. Unaware of the danger that stalked them, or of their protector hiding just out of sight.

But now she was tired and had the sniffles and was currently making herself a cup of hot tea to try and combat what she was sure was a cold. It was her favorite blend the Quarry had, warm tones of maple and vanilla and cinnamon over a decaffeinated black tea base, called “Maple Syrup Drizzle”. She stirred in a pack of sugar to sweeten it a little and then set it to the side to cool so she didn’t burn her tongue. When she turned around there was someone at the counter. 

Mystery man. Cute guy— _tall,_ cute guy. She’d forgotten he was tall. Like at least a foot taller than her. 

“Hi, were you needing something?” she managed, trying to not let her interest show on her face. 

“Well, I’ve had like… five cups of coffee,” he started, too serious, “and I’m pretty sure I’m about to have a heart attack. Do you have anything to help combat that?”

She stared at him for a second, tired mind automatically listing off the necessary emergency procedures to combat a heart attack. Her exhaustion and his apparent seriousness slowed her from realizing he was joking, and she blinked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. 

“Um, you need CPR?” 

For some reason it came out as a question and she watched as he turned scarlet, clearly not expecting her answer any more than she had. 

“Well, uh, that’s not—I-I mean I’m not having the heart attack _yet—_ ” He stuttered, still bright red. “You d-don’t need to give me CPR. Maybe just like some tea or something?”

Jane felt her face heat up. “Oh my god. No, I didn’t mean—” She sucked in a breath, trying to understand how it was suddenly so awkward. “Sorry, I just meant like—that’s what you do if someone has a heart attack. I won’t—I mean, no thanks,” she blurted out, feeling like her face was literally on fire.

_No thanks?!_

As she struggled to talk, he went from embarrassed to amused, an eyebrow quirking up at just how far her foot was shoved in her mouth. A grin tilted his lips, eyes laughing. 

“So if I do actually have a heart attack, you’ll just let me die?”

“No! If you _needed_ it, I—” She cut herself off as she realized he was teasing her. “Oh my god, shut up, I’m too tired, okay?” Her shoulders slumped down, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. “And also pretend like I didn’t just tell you to shut up. Because that’s rude and I’m not rude to customers.”

There was a laugh and she peeked from under her hands, heart sparking to life as the handsome stranger chuckled, leaning forward against the counter. “No, I deserved that. I was being kind of an ass.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Mike. Sorry for hassling you. I was trying to ask for tea recommendations but I could have been way less awkward about it.”

It took her a moment to react but she gingerly offered her hand and shook. “Um, I’m Jane. And it’s fine. I’d rather someone try to be nice and tease me than chew me out for not putting exactly three ice cubes in their drink or something.”

“That happens?” He raised a brow, still shaking her hand. 

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” She carefully took her hand back, trying to pretend like she wasn’t suddenly warmer than she’d been in her whole life. “But don’t worry about it. You said you wanted tea? I just finished steeping some.” 

Jane moved over to the other counter, grabbing her cup of now-cool tea and passing it to him. It’s not like she couldn’t make another. And god, fuck, he was just so _beautiful._

“It’s lightly sweetened, do you like more sugar?”

“Nah, this’ll be fine.” He took a sip, dark brows jumping up his pale face. “Oh, that’s good.”

“It’s my favorite so it better be,” she sniffed, finding herself smiling for some reason. “It’s called Maple Syrup Drizzle and goes perfect with warm Eggos. I have a bag at home. Best thing for de-stressing.”

“I might have to get some.”

A short man with a business suit and serious expression came up to the counter, ending the conversation, and Jane quickly scooted over, giving Mike a half-smile before she got back to work. He hesitated, like he wanted to stay and talk more, but then quickly moved out of the way and moseyed back to his seat, tea in his hands, dark eyes watching. It was busy until the end of her shift and when she did have time to look back over, he was buried back in his books, the cup empty, brow puckered in concentration. 

As she hung up her apron and threw her jacket on over her X-Men shirt, she was hit by the sudden urge to be nice. And not the usual “save a stranger’s life because I have superpowers and they don’t” kind of nice, but the nice where she went out of her way to do something nice for the sake of… niceness. So definitely not her usual kind of nice.

When she set the little to-go bag of tea on the very top of the stack of books, Mike looked up, surprised, but then he smiled, happiness filling his chocolate eyes at the sight of her. “What’s this?”

“Some Maple Drizzle tea. It’s supposed to be cold the next week… I figured you could use it. And it might keep any heart attacks at bay?” Jane felt herself smiling… flirtily? _Oops_. “In case I’m not there to give you proper CPR.”

Mike stared up at her, mouth gaping open slightly, like he was struggling to believe what was happening. It was long enough of a pause that she felt herself start to feel stupid and awkward, brow creasing, stupid heart pounding, regretting what had clearly been a stupid idea. _Stupid_.

“S-Sorry, I—” she started.

“Do you want to go out sometime?” He blurted, then flushed, that same adorable red shade from earlier at the counter. “I mean, like… I could buy you a drink or something? If you like—” His eyes caught on her shirt, the snarling face of Wolverine making his face light up. “Or maybe, like, we could grab some comics? I know this great place—”

“Mike,” she breathed, suddenly feeling like she was whirling around in dizzy circles, needing him to stop talking so she could catch her breath. When had she become breathless? “Um… I-I—” 

It took her a moment to find the right words to say no. She _had_ to say no. But fucking _shit_ she wanted to say yes. So badly. 

“I can’t. I’m s-sorry, you’re actually really nice but…” She exhaled heavily, deciding on a vague version of the truth. “I’m not really in a good place right now for a relationship or… anything.”

He seemed to take it in, pupils flaring, before he looked down, nodding at his book and empty cup of tea. “That’s… totally fair. I didn’t mean to like, spring it on you, I just thought—” He shook his head, running his hands through his hair nervously. “I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

“It’s okay…”

She knew she should leave then. Leave it at that and never touch it again. Head home, catch a few Zs, eat something and get ready for another night of watching. It was the smart thing to do. The logical thing. But somehow instead she found herself scooting the chair on the opposite side of the table out and sitting down, grabbing the top two books off of his stack and looking them over.

“‘A Brief History of Time’ by Stephen Hawking. Sounds deep.” She grabbed the next one, brow raising, unable to keep from grinning. “Ooh, and ‘Star Wars: Heir to the Empire’. That’s quite a different genre.”

It would either go one of two ways and she knew it. Either he would be embarrassed and annoyed at her rejection and be a dick, or he would accept that he didn’t have a chance for anything romantic but be okay with it. Maybe they could be friends. No, not friends, but acquaintances at least. And he just gave off such a pleasant vibe and was so kind and funny… she wanted him around. Even if she couldn’t have more than that. At least he could be in her life somehow, here at the coffee shop.

“Um, yeah, kind of…” he replied tentatively. “It’s for my dissertation, er—the first one is. On physics, the possibility of other dimensions and stuff, um—” he frowned at himself. “It’s worded a lot more intelligently than that, I promise.”

Jane felt herself giggle softly. “If you’re trying to get a doctorate, I suppose it would have to be.”

“The bulk of it is on my computer at home, but I do better research when I’m not trapped into a stuffy room. Also, my roommates are kind of loud so…”

“And what’s the story behind this one?” She held up the Star Wars book again, watching him flush.

“Um, I like the extended universe,” he said carefully. “Taking the story and making it bigger. Especially since there’s literally a whole galaxy of possibilities. I’ve kind of, um, dabbled in that—” His adam’s apple bobbed nervously, hands twitching, leg jiggling beneath the table. “I like writing. Physics, science—I’m good at it, but writing is like a whole different kind of escape. Even if the characters are… borrowed.”

Jane couldn’t help but feel surprised, glancing down at the book and then back at him. “Oh, you want to write this kind of thing?”

“I… do write it,” he said slowly, clearly embarrassed.

She realized how much an asshole she was being, shaking her head. “Oh, god, I sound so judgemental, sorry. I just hadn’t thought about it. I mean I love Star Wars, but I’m not much of a reader. Of like, books, I like pictures and words more than just words. That doesn’t mean it’s bad… I’m out of my element,” she apologized, turning her attention back to the book and turning it over, skimming the back. She blinked. “It actually sounds really good. Too bad it’s not a comic.”

It was quiet, but when she looked back up he looked considerably less tense. Her brain thought of an olive branch, hoping it would fix her fuck-up. She really didn’t think it was weird, it was just something new. 

“What do you write about? Or, um, who?”

He looked up, eyes narrowed, cautious. “I like Han. And Princess Leia. What they might have got up to, all of that,” he replied. “You don’t have to pretend to be interested.”

“I love Leia,” she countered, setting the book back on the stack. “What were your ideas?”

He blinked, staring at her, as if measuring something, and she stared back, sincere, leaning forward against the table on her elbows. It was like watching something unwind, behind his dark eyes, and a slow smile stretched across his face. A notebook was grabbed, one with a red cover and a rebel alliance sticker stuck on. He flipped it open, staring down, but then shut it again.

“I don’t think I’ll do that to you right now. You’ve been nice, so I’m going to be nice and hold off.”

“Aw, really?”

He got more serious. “This could take a good hour, and I know you just got off so you’re probably tired. I don’t want to make you deal with Star Wars fan fiction. It’s like falling down an intergalactic rabbit hole.”

The absurdity of his words and the solemness of his face made her burst out laughing, nodding her head. “Okay, if you say so. I’ll make you tell me when I’m less tired. Now I’m intrigued, Mike.” Not wanting to push too much, she went back to the Stephen Hawking book, holding it in her hands and turning it over. “You said you were working on your dissertation? That sounds like… a whole lot of stress.”

His hands found the blue notebook, pushing the red one back in its place. It was like a car changing gears, the light of passion that had filled his eyes fading into something much more comfortable. “You’re right. It’s not like my whole career is staked on this one project or anything.”

“I won’t pretend academics are my element either,” she admitted. “I was homeschooled my whole life.”

“Oh, wow, really? Well, public school was mostly just full of bullies anyways. You didn’t miss much,” he promised. “I had my friends and they got me through. Now they drive me nuts half the time. I love them, but it’s hard to get anything done when someone is barging into your room every twenty minutes. It’s almost as bad as my mom but not quite. At least they usually knock first.”

“Getting away helps, huh? Well, I’m glad you came here,” she allowed. It was true. At least she got to look at him and appreciate how damn _cute_ he was. Handsome, even. “When’s your deadline?”

“Next summer,” he breathed, clearly anxious at the thought. “Technically that’s plenty of time but… doesn’t feel like it.”

“I get it. Working up to something and trying really hard to be prepared but—” She thought of her fuck up, of calling Will by name in such a dangerous situation. “You can still mess it up in the end. Or not follow through. Totally sucks.”

She stared off into space, lost in the feeling of dread that had been creeping in. It felt like no matter how hard she trained or prepared, she never quite made it all the way through. Yeah, she had stopped muggings and rapists and made the streets safer in some ways… but when it came down to it, she was only polishing the surface of something rusted all the way through.

Was she really doing _good_? Or just trying to make herself feel better? It was a thought that always haunted her. Guilted her, even.

“But does giving up feel any less suck-y?” Mike’s voice brought her back and she looked to him, blinking at his words. 

He opened his hands upward, shrugging. “I mean, yeah, failing sucks. Like a lot. But at least then you know you tried? It’s better to like… keep trying and learning and knowing you didn’t just… give up. Giving up means regretting. And regretting sucks more than failing…” He swallowed and dropped his hands. “At least in my experience. I finished my bachelor’s when I was twenty, in two years instead of four, so I could get an early start on my master’s. But my dad… he didn’t see much point in what I wanted to do. Said it was a bunch of bullshit, trying to find ways to other dimensions and universes through theory. He didn’t even know about the writing…”

It was at that moment she realized how much he had admitted to her. Things he hadn’t even told his family. Something in her softened and she barely resisted reaching out and grabbing his hand as he continued.

“He said I should just get into sales or accounting, something… practical. That my imagination was great but wouldn’t get me anywhere in life. So I stayed at home for two years, working part time at RadioShack and apprenticing my dad in his cubicle.”

“Your dad kind of sounds like he sucks,” she couldn’t help but comment. Sure, Hopper had been stiff sometimes, and got angry when she put herself in danger, but he’d always supported what she wanted to do. Even when it was a literal risk to her life.

Mike snorted. “He thought he knew what was best for me but… he didn’t. And I was so miserable. Stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, selling VCRs and staring at spreadsheets all day,” he sighed, pen tapping against his notebook. “So when my best friend called and said he had an extra room, I had to come here. And I had saved up enough to start my master’s and now I’m almost a doctor and so… fucking happy about it. If I stayed home I would still be there, regretting it. So yeah, being afraid of what comes next sucks but… but it can’t be worse than being miserable because you didn’t take the chance.”

Jane had been entranced by his story and when he finished, flashing that pretty smile of his, she could only blink. He wasn’t just pretty—he was _smart_. And so open. This city had always been chilly, wind whistling through the empty streets, empty smiles and indifference from anyone who bothered to look her way. What the hell existed in the middle of goddamn nowhere that made people like this?

She cleared her throat, realizing she needed to say something. “That’s… amazing. I’m glad you’ve figured that out. You seem like you have a lot ahead of you.” 

With that she patted the back of his hand and then stood up, deciding that if she talked any more about the insecurities in her life she would start crying. To a man who—despite not feeling like it—was basically a stranger. Instead she held it inside, unsure of why the kind person before her with the hot chocolate eyes made her want to open up so much. 

“Um, I better go, but thanks for… for talking, Mike,” she said softly, zipping her jacket up and turning away.

“Wait! Uh—” She looked over her shoulder at him and he was watching her with his warm eyes full of desperation, hand raised. “Do you… work again tomorrow?”

“I work pretty much all the time.” _Understatement of the year_. “I’m sure I’ll see you again if you’re still working on your dissertation. And other projects.” She allowed a smile, chin trembling a bit. “Try not to have a heart attack if I’m not here, okay?”

A relieved smile broke over his face and he nodded. “Promise. See you, Jane.”

“Bye, Mike.”

She couldn't help but glance in through the windows towards his corner as her feet pulled her down the sidewalk outside of the shop, quickly glancing away and hiding a smile when she saw his dark gaze staring back.

The Windy City lived up to its name as she walked home, the chilly evening turning downright frigid as the wind blasted through the buildings, as if a giant had left their air conditioning on up on top of the grey clouds and it was blowing down on the city below. But Jane didn't notice the frosty gusts that turned her nose and cheeks red, hands tucked into her pockets, thoughts of hot chocolate eyes filling her head. 

She was way too warm to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm currently stuck on the chapter i'm writing right now and it's so frustrating. queen latifah give me strength. hopefully i can figure out exactly what i want or at least get over the hump and keep going. a nice comment always helps. i crave that sweet validation lmao.
> 
> let me know what you think so far. i'm going to try and start responding to comments again on here but i get weirdly anxious about it despite wanting the feedback. maybe i should bring that up in therapy. hmm.
> 
> see you next time.  
> -g


	3. Tell me why you gotta look at me that way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to my schedule i wasn't supposed to post this until tomorrow but i finished editing it today and i couldn't help myself and i had some wine so like why the fuck not.
> 
> this chapter makes me happy?? i feel good about this?? watch me wake up tomorrow and change my mind lmao. but right now i'm excited for you guys to read it.
> 
> mileven aHOY

October turned into November at a freezing cold pace. Halloween neared, only two days away, but the city had turned frigid sooner than usual, sleet and below zero wind chills making trick-or-treaters wary. The weatherman seemed to be more grim every day.

Jane had managed to switch up her schedule, at least, so she was less miserable during her shifts, but with the nights were getting colder and colder, and even her thermal underwear failing to fully help, she was struggling. How was she supposed to keep it up for another three, four, maybe five months? Sitting outside Will’s window, listening to him and his friends inside while she shivered. Waiting for monsters that didn’t even feel real.

It had been frustrating, feeling so useless despite being anything but. She hadn’t been able to listen to the news and hear about all the crime she wasn’t preventing, pacing her apartment when she wasn’t sleeping, hating that she was missing out on so much. There was no shortage of murders and burglaries and kidnappings, and it was the first time she’d spent so much time on a single person. She felt restless. And trapped.

So far there’d been no sign of Brenner’s goons. But when she’d voiced her complaints to Hopper he had told her that they had to wait until they had a real plan to do anything and as much she didn’t want to agree that he was right… he was. Some of Brenner’s victims had gone years thinking they were safe before he’d come for them. 

It couldn’t happen to Will. _Or_ his friends, who were now sitting ducks.

Her vigil couldn’t end until either Will and his roommates left the city, or Brenner was busted. And so far neither were possible. Her only real hope was that the crime lord would slip up somewhere, make enough of a mistake that the cops could move in and put him away so that his potential marks could be safe. If it wasn’t big enough for the cops, she would risk it to take him down. But so far there hadn’t been any sort of crumb, and not for lack of trying.

With Will on the line, Hopper had a fire under his ass he hadn’t had before. It felt hopeless, during those weeks, where she stared up at the waning and waxing moon, hidden in her silent shadows. Like there was no point trying to protect someone who had no chance against the bloodthirsty monsters howling beneath the surface of the city. 

It was only her days, at work, that helped her get through the nights. Or more specifically, the person _at_ work.

Almost every shift… Mike was there, with his deepening stacks of books and endless cups of tea and coffee. It was easy to drop by his table after her shifts and talk for a bit. At first it had just been for five or ten minutes. Teasing him about needing CPR, letting him explain the ideas behind his alternate dimension theory, using the words of Sagan and Hawking and Alan Guth. It would have been boring if had been anyone but him.

_“So… to dumb down everything you just said,” Jane said slowly, “you’re mainly focusing on how and what humanity would be like in a different dimension?”_

_To be fair to Mike, he’d explained it really well, but she’d always preferred summaries to help wrap her mind around whatever concept she was trying to learn._

_He winced a bit, elbows on the edge of the table, brow wrinkled. “Well, I would use the word ‘universe’ instead of dimension, but yeah, that’s about right. There’s situational differences as far as wrinkles in time go—the difference between you eating Eggos for breakfast this morning or skipping it. Things can but don’t necessarily change the entire flow of time. There could be a billion universes where you skip breakfast where nothing happens, but there could be one where you did and it ends up causing the end of the world. I’m focusing less on that and more on how the entire planet could have been different based on the past.”_

_It still felt like it was going over her head a little bit but he seemed so excited to be talking about it that she didn’t want to kill his vibe. And it was interesting enough she pushed him to keep going._

_“Like, us still being stuck in an Ice Age or something?” she guessed._

_His face lit up. “Yeah, or how it could still be 1995 but we’re already building colonies on the moon and Mars. Or maybe we were hit by a meteor that housed an alien race that took over the planet.”_

_Jane couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, and this is actually considered science and not just science fiction?”_

_“You make it a theory and give it a hypothesis and it makes it… plausible,” he allowed, grinning right back at her. Clearly he knew he was toeing the line with his thesis. “I mean, I won’t necessarily be mentioning aliens in my actual thesis, but that’s what I think is fun about it.”_

_“Sounds like fanfiction to me… which reminds me, when do I get to see the red notebook?”_

_At the mere mention of his secret hobby his face went red and she reached across the table to playfully push his arm, unable to keep from feeling the sparks of warmth as her fingers brushed his sweater._

_“C’mon, I’m not as tired today. I can handle it,” she teased._

_“Well, I-I_ — _”_

_His cheeks flushed as he stuttered, eyes widening before he looked away. Jane realized that even though he’d told her about it, there was still a wide berth of insecurity inbetween her and his willingness to talk about it. She tilted her head, suddenly curious._

_“How many people know you write Star Wars extended universe?” She tried to sit back, hoping her relaxed stance would calm him down. “Like, does your family know?”_

_His gaze shot back to her, brows raised in horror. “Oh, fuck no. Are you insane?”_

_She couldn’t help it, she laughed, but Mike seemed to lose some of the tension in his shoulders instead of being offended. He shook his head. “One of my best friends know, but it’s more of a private thing. I don’t really know why I told you…”_

_Smiling the smile she knew was too flirty, she laughed again. “Because I’m just so easy to talk to?”_

_He didn’t laugh, eyes full of something that made her shiver._

_“Yeah, I guess so.”_

It had felt dangerously warm then, the heat in his eyes making her squirm, making her want to do something stupid. Like kiss him. Or something else. Anything else. She wanted so badly to allow their timid acquaintanceship to be something more. Instead she’d made an excuse to leave, mentioning her dad (what she usually called Hopper when she wanted to avoid explaining his slightly confusing place in her life) and Mike had easily let her go, giving a smile and a cheerful wave. 

She’d been unable to forget the electricity that had sparked, lighting something in her she hadn’t felt. A want, a need, a _desire_. For Mike and his soft smiles and dark eyes and big hands. It had made her burn, and when Hopper hadn’t answered her knocks she’d spent the rest of her evening free time doing a hundredth rewatch of _Dirty Dancing_ , hoping it would get her mind off the beautiful man who wouldn’t leave her thoughts. Why she’d picked one of her favorite rom coms from her teenagerhood, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like seeing two people fall in love despite their differences made her thoughts any clearer. Like their blatant attraction had helped her ignore her own. 

Simply put, it hadn’t helped. In fact it just made it worse. 

The next day she had tried to avoid his table, unable to understand exactly what was going on inside of her. Sitting on the rooftop the night before, she’d had too much time to do nothing but think—about Baby and Johnny, about Mike, about the romantic notation of meeting someone and them being the _One_. Of that person making you feel something you’d never felt before. All of it was cheesy, made-up bullshit, the kind of stuff that should only exist on her screen. 

So why couldn’t she stop thinking about it?

Work had been blissfully busy, keeping her preoccupied. Mike had waved at her once from his table and she’d managed to wave back, before volunteering to clean the bathrooms, needing to calm down the heat that had rushed to her face and stomach. 

Luckily he’d been too busy to notice that her shift had ended and she’d managed to slip out, avoiding confronting the swirl of confusion in her head for another day. Then two, then three. On the fourth day she hadn’t been so lucky.

_“Jane?”_

_She’d been halfway under the counter, trying to find the drain tube for the espresso machine that kept getting clogged and overflowing everywhere, when she heard her name. They’d called an actual professional, but it was an excuse to avoid the counter and any tall, beautiful men who might be trying to get her attention there. Not a good enough excuse to ignore them when they said her name, though._

_Peeking over the top of the corner, still on her knees, she looked up into Mike’s worried face, his dark brows pinched together. “Hey,” she managed._

_“Hey,” he said back, before biting his lip, like he was trying to hold back saying more._

_It was quiet as he stared down at her, that same unsure expression on his face, crooked teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. After a second he opened his mouth, then closed it again. Jane let out a sigh, knowing she had to at least try._

_“Is there_ — _”_

_“Did I do something?” The words were sudden and loud and Mike flinched, like he regretted them the second they came out. “S-Sorry, I just… feel like you’re avoiding me and if there’s a reason, I wanted to try and apologize at least.”_

_Jane slowly stood up, staring down at the screwdriver in her palm, not even knowing where to begin. She couldn’t explain the real reason. How the mere thought of him ruined her concentration, how she’d almost missed one of her usual rooftops the night before because she’d remembered his dumb joke about black holes, how she’d burned her finger on the steaming wand because she’d been staring over at his table._

_How even seeing him now, standing in front of her_ — _the muscles in his thick neck tensing as he swallowed nervously, shoulders hunched down, pretty eyebrows furrowed together_ — _made her feel something she’d never felt before. Something she never thought she would feel._

_Something she wasn’t allowed to feel._

_“No, Mike, you didn’t…_ do _anything,” she said carefully, trying to figure out how she could possibly explain the wild attraction she had for him. She set the screwdriver down, glad for the excuse to avoid his stare. “It’s_ — _I’ve just been… trying to figure things out.”_

_“Figure things… out?” he repeated, blinking._

_It felt cruel and she sighed, shoulders dropping, shaking her head. “How I feel about you.”_

_He seemed to take that in, licking his chapped lips, probably red from the cold outside. Jane couldn’t help but notice them, notice how his worry turned into pure confusion instead. He deserved a better explanation and she knew it._

_“I mean, I know how I feel_ — _It’s just that I shouldn’t feel that way. So I guess I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with… all of that,” she motioned vaguely towards her head, as if that would somehow help him picture the tangled emotions that were inside. “I guess I just like you a lot and it’s hard to pretend I don’t.”_

_Something seemed to clear in his eyes, the worried tension breaking, and he let out a sigh, bobbing his head up and down. “Oh… okay.” His hands fidgeted with the edge of the counter and the various posters taped down to it. “Um, are you sure you have to pretend like you don’t? Because I’m pretty okay with you liking me a lot. I, uh, I like you a lot too.”_

_It shouldn’t have made her feel warm all over, like she was sinking into a warm bath after a night on Will’s frozen rooftop, comforting and soft. But it did. And that was the problem._

_“I don’t… I mean, I can’t do a relationship. At all. I can’t even really do a friendship.” It sounded stupid, there was no denying that._

_“That’s… incredibly vague,” he said with a wince. “I know I’m not_ — _”_

_Jane didn’t want him blaming himself. Not even a little. “No. Hell no, Mike. It’s not because of anything you’ve done or said or how you are. You’re really attractive and fun and I like talking to you. It’s not because of you, it’s me.”_

_At that he snorted. “God, why does this feel like a breakup?”_

_This time Jane was the one who winced. “Fuck, sorry. I’ve never… I mean, I haven’t actually ever dated someone. Or broken up with anyone. I don’t know how to talk to people I like.”_

_“Especially when you’re telling them they have zero chance,” he said pointedly. “I mean, I took the hint the first time you said no. Did I do something that made you uncomfortable?”_

_“No, I’m the one who can’t… fucking control herself, I guess.” She shook her head at herself, putting her hands up. “And you’re right. I guess I’m just overthinking it. I’m sorry.”_

_She expected him to storm off, or at the very least walk away and never talk to her again. Instead he looked down, feet shuffling, almost squirming._

_“Does that mean we can’t talk at all? Like, how we were? Because that’s… I mean, um, that sucks.” He didn’t bother to sugarcoat it, his words stinging like ice on bare skin. “I mean, if that’s what you would prefer, I won’t be a dick about it, but I just wanted to say that it sucks…” There was no mistaking the melancholy in his dark eyes. “I liked being your friend.”_

_Shame flushed Jane’s face at his words It wasn’t his fault she didn’t know how to handle her attraction to him. He was right, he’d been nothing but respectful of the boundary she’d set. The issue she’d created wasn’t actually an issue. Or… it was_ her _issue. But it wasn’t fair to drop him out of nowhere._

_Especially when she’d made the first move._

_“God, Mike, I’m sorry. You’re totally right. I suck so bad,” she lamented, pressing her palm to her temple and shaking her head. “I didn’t know how to deal with it but it wasn’t cool for me to just… stop talking to you. I’m sorry.”_

_He softened a bit. “You don’t have a lot of friends, huh?”_

_“Nope,” she winced. “I’m a solitary creature by_ — _by habit.”_

 _Was it_ actually _a habit? Or just a coping mechanism?_

_“Maybe you need to break that habit?” Mike considered._

_She must have been pitiful enough to be believable because he chuckled and the tension broke, the weird knot in her stomach soothed away by his soft laughter. Somehow she knew she didn’t deserve his persistence, which only made her appreciate it more._

_“Maybe I do,” she agreed._

_One of her other regulars approached the counter with her mug in her hand and Jane scooted over to the register, eyes still on the man who made it easy for her to give in to her heart. “I’ll stop by today. You’ve convinced me I’m wrong.”_

_“Is that a promise?” His eyes glinted, his lips_ — _that she couldn’t help but linger on, noticing how plush and red they were_ — _tilted up into a smile._

_It was impossible not to grin back. “Promise.”_

And she had gone to his table, apologizing more sincerely while he tried to assure her he’d already forgiven her. His knee had rested against hers the whole time, causing the heat—that same heat that had scared her so much at first—to flood into her again. This time she didn’t let it scare her, instead focusing on Mike as he talked, appreciating his dark, expressive brows and wide grin and how he would reach up every now and then brush at his dark mop of hair.

It had taken her a long time to fall asleep that night, head filled with thoughts of the beautiful man who she couldn’t seem to resist. 

He’d brought some comics last week, clued in by their discussion and her Wolverine t-shirt, and she’d ended up at his table for a full hour as they argued and rifled through the bright pages. She’d found out just how opinionated he was—and how much he doubted myself. 

_“You can’t possibly think Iceman is better than Colossus. You just can’t,” Mike protested, eyes wide._

_“I didn’t say more powerful, I said more interesting!” Jane corrected gently, laughing at his reaction. “Bobby has been around longer and he’s in more comics… we just don’t know enough about Peter! I can’t connect with him.”_

_Mike let out a long sigh. “I hate to admit you’re right, but, uh, you’re not wrong. I guess I’m just a sucker for the big, indestructible types. I was always a weenie growing up. Still am.” He was rubbing his arm subconsciously, as if feeling for muscles that weren’t there, mouth puckered into an insecure grimace. “It would have been nice to have been able to turn into a hunk of metal when the bullies were swinging at me.”_

_Jane felt a frisson of righteous fury, wishing she’d been around when he’d been twelve to flip the bullies onto their asses and teach them a lesson. Looking at Mike now it was hard to imagine him being a kid that got beat up. Sure, he wasn’t super buff, but he was tall and well-built, and handsome._

_Part of her wished she could see a photo, put together the pieces of who he’d been before. But she knew better than to ask. It was the kind of question he wouldn’t say no to, but one that was too personal. Not the thing you ask the man you’re wildly attracted to but keep turning down._

_“I was homeschooled, so I was lucky to miss the bullies,” she admitted. “But I was a weird kid too. I mostly read Teen Beat when I was like, twelve, but then I moved out here after my mom died and there was comic shop nearby and I fell down the X-Men hole. I’m sure I would have been beaten up too.”_

_Mike let out a snort, giving her an up-and-down. “Nah, I don’t believe that. I’ve heard you chew out the delivery guy for blocking the alley here. Bullies would have seen you and run the other way. You’re small_ — _” He paused, “Like, stature-wise. But you’re attitude isn’t. I bet you’re a fighter.”_

_She almost choked on her spit, disguising it as a cough. He had no idea how close to the truth he was. It was obvious he’d surprised her, and she waved him off as she coughed again, rolling her eyes._

_“What?” His eyes crinkled in amusement. “You’re telling me I’m wrong?”_

_Managing to catch her breath again, she shook her head. “No… I just don’t think fighting is always the answer. It’s just more efficient, usually. If people could actually be calmed with just words… things would be so much easier. And better.” She stared straight into his warm, ebony eyes, tilting her head. “You’re gifted with words, Mike. And if anything_ that _will change the world. Violence can only do so much, fix a problem in the moment. Me fighting one person won’t necessarily change anything. But you could reach the whole world.”_

_His face slowly flushed scarlet, dark bangs bobbing as he ducked his head. “I don’t know about that.”_

_“Well, you should know you’re powerful too,” she retorted, the righteous fury back in full blaze. “The bullies beat you up because you made them feel insecure, and it was the only way they could make themselves feel better about being shitty. Being a weenie doesn’t mean being worthless. It just means your strengths lie in your heart and in your head instead of your fists.”_

_She reached out, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, making him look up in surprise. His gaze rested on their hands before he dared to look up all the way and meet her eyes, and what she saw made her pause. He seemed softer, in a way she’d never seen before_ — _or that she’d never seen_ _directed her way. Swallowing her own emotions, she squeezed his hand again._

_“You’re really amazing, Mike. You know that, right? You’re probably the smartest person I know.”_

_“You must not know a lot of people,” he quipped, dodging the compliment._

_Jane frowned, his self-deprecation chafing against her. Instead of squeezing his hand again, she tugged it roughly, forcing his eyes back to her face, her expression tight. “Hey, don’t make me beat you up. I’m serious. You’re trying to find other galaxies and dimensions and that’s incredible. Not to mention you’re kind and funny and easy to talk to. Smart people can be assholes and you’re not. You’re a good person and_ — _” She took a sharp breath, knowing she shouldn’t say it again, that it was encouraging what she’d discouraged, “_ — _I like you. A lot. You’re a good person,” she repeated lamely._

_It was a shitty ending to her speech, but she’d been too strong, too honest, and it felt like the only way to cut off the true feelings that longed to fall from her tongue. She’d only known him for a month. It didn’t make sense on top of being not allowed. They’d already been over it, had a whole discussion about it, and there was a tug of guilt at her stupid indecisiveness._

_Sitting back, she pulled her hands away, face warm, the burn he put into her lighting up her whole body. “God, sorry. I know I shouldn’t be so careless with… all of that. It’s not fair.”_

_Mike let out a long breath. “You’re absolutely sure I can’t take you on a date?”_

_She couldn’t keep from hesitating, wanting to give permission, to let him in. What could go wrong? He was so kind and understanding. Some rom com man minus the miscommunication, blinking across the table at her. Wanting her as much as she wanted him._

_For a second her mind wandered, imagining them at a nice restaurant, laughing and talking, walking hand-in-hand, love drunk or wine drunk or both. At her door, his lips on hers, then on her shoulder and neck, her hands tangled into his hair before pulling him into her apartment and giving into the fire that he built in her so easily. Leaving him there, in her bed, as she put on her suit and snuck away, to guard a friend, him waking up alone, unable to understand where she went._

_The dream fell apart and she sucked in a breath, blinking the fantasy away and shaking her head. “No, I mean_ — _Yes, I’m sure. I_ — _I really can’t. I’m sorry, Mike”_

_He didn’t flinch, but he also didn’t meet her eyes, patting her hand and sitting up straighter, scooting one of the comics towards her. “It’s okay, I just had to ask one last time. I promise I won’t again.”_

_Jane managed a half-smile, trying to fight the sudden pain in her chest, the bitter taste in the back of her throat. Her luck had run out, the door to a potential future suddenly shut and locked._

_He always kept his promises._

Since that particular day they’d still talked, but the boundary had become crystal clear. She didn’t ask about his family and friends, and he only mentioned them in passing, keeping the conversations on X-Men or Star Wars—though he still wouldn’t pull out the red notebook—or her weird customers, his job writing and editing for the city paper. He was still warm, easy to talk to, friendly… but sometimes she could almost feel the strain of his smile, as he held back that warm look. 

She wondered if he could feel her struggling to hold it back too.

It didn’t matter, though. His tentative friendship still gave her something to look forward to and helped her get through the long, lonely nights on the rooftops. Hopper had been absent, spending his evenings at the main station combing through old cases and files, searching for anything that could help incriminate Brenner.

So once again, she was left alone, staring up at the sky. There was too much light pollution to be able to see anything more than a dim twinkle of a star, but it was cloudy anyways, not even the moon out to keep her company.

She sighed, letting her head fall back, arms crossed, shoved into the corner where the dormer window jutted out and met the roof. It was her usual spot. There were two windows that stuck out on the side of the two story house, facing the backyard. Those two were the upstairs bedrooms, one of which was Will’s, she was pretty sure, and therefore where she kept her watch. There were always shadows to hide her there and it offered shelter from the wind. A win-win for any masked vigilante trying to keep an unaware civilian from being kidnapped and tortured.

The neighborhood had been extra quiet that night. Only one or two cars had passed by and even the dogs that lived down the road hadn’t done their usual routine of barking their fucking faces off. Heavy clouds filled the sky, the pale orange reflection of the city lights illuminating the dark night. The kind of night she would have preferred being downtown, beating the shit out of perverts in dark alleys and actually getting arrests made. She’d been frustrated enough that she’d broken a rule and brought a jacket, a plain black hoodie to try and keep her ears from freezing.

Wearing anything that wasn’t her suit and mask and boots was against “the rules”. Unofficial rules. Half made by Hopper, the others made by herself through the years. One from Kali. They were to keep her and her identity safe, a no-brainer. Anything that could be traced back to Jane Ives was dangerous. It was better to be safe than sorry, and unfortunately Clark Kent-ing it up with just a pair of glasses and a name change didn’t quite cut it.

But it was just a stupid hoodie. A million people owned the same one. At least she wasn’t totally freezing her ass off this time. It wasn’t like she’d ever break any of the big rules. She’d never use her powers at work or home. Or save someone at the cost of her own life. Or use her powers to kill.

Or fall in love.

She shifted rather abruptly, her head still leaning back, thinking about how Mike had turned red when she’d asked about his Star Wars novel, how fucking cute he was when he tried to pretend like he wasn’t flustered. Her heavy boot—reinforced with heavy soles and thick leather to prevent being punctured by knives or teeth—caught on, of all things, an _acorn_. Instead of silently sliding across the shingles as intended, she skidded, scraping and scrabbling down the rooftop as she lost her foothold, barely managing to get a grip on the gutter before she fell right over the side.

“Fuck,” she gasped, quickly using her powers to glide herself back up to her hiding spot, glancing around and hoping any silent watchers hadn’t seen her slip. 

Her body had only just tucked itself back into the corner when she heard the sound of groaning wood, a window sliding open, and heavy breath that clouded the cold air. 

“Hello?” The voice was masculine, unsure… familiar. “Is someone there?”

Eleven froze, slowing her breathing, going totally still like she had trained herself to do. She watched as the silhouette of a man, long torso and hair that flopped around his head, peered around the corner of the window, his shadow making him indiscernible in the pale glow of the city’s light pollution, no lights around in the backyard to allow her to see more than his shape. It wasn’t Will or Dustin, she could tell that much, deciding it was one of the other two roommates. 

There was a moment where she locked eyes with him, hers invisible, the pale skin painted black, mouth hidden beneath the sleeve of her black hoodie. He couldn’t see her, she knew it but…

His eyes were dark, familiar somehow, and they seemed to stare right into her as she tried not to move a muscle. She didn’t even breathe, feeling oddly frozen beneath his stare, unable to understand. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he would hear it. Another second and he would see her, reach out and blow her cover, ruin—

He let out a sigh and pulled back, looking around the other side of his little windowsill before sighing again and then giving up. Eleven still didn’t move, even after she heard the sound of window being shut, not daring to pretend it was safe yet. With any luck he would just assume it was some squirrels fighting or a fallen branch, a mundane but acceptable excuse. 

Much easier to believe than a telekinetic superhero sitting outside his window slipping on an acorn like a total dumbass.

After a solid ten minutes of quiet, her legs were starting to shake and she allowed herself to change positions, internally screaming at herself for fucking up _yet again_. But he hadn’t seen her. She’d just have to be more careful next time… _really_ careful. Like, not-even-a-hoodie careful. 

_Why did you wear it in the first place? You’re getting soft, idiot,_ she chastised, letting out a shaking breath. _What else are you going to fuck up?_

She knew one thing for sure. She definitely wasn’t going to mention it to Hopper.

**& &**

The twinkling lights of the skyline glimmered through the huge window behind the desk, the figure sitting there not looking up as a severe woman with gray-blonde hair stepped into the office. 

“What can I do for you, Connie?”

“Nothing, sir,” she replied evenly. “I came with an update on the Byers situation.”

“Oh?” His hair gleamed white as he sat back in his chair, fingertips pressing together as he listened.

“My men spotted the masked bitch, on the back side of the house, guarding the windows. She appeared to slip and disturbed one of the inhabitants but was able to go unnoticed.” Connie Frazier’s eyes gleamed with hate. “If you want, we could have a sharpshooter take her out.”

Martin Brenner sat forward, the small light on his desk illuminating his face, a calm smile on his face. “Now why would I want that, Connie?”

The mask of control slipped a bit, her eyebrows twitching up. “To eliminate her meddling? She’s already ruined half of my enterprises. We have the upper-hand.”

“It’s true… she has been quite the costly interloper. But—” He let his eyebrows rise. “She has a weakness now. One we can easily exploit. We’ll get Byers, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Once we have him, we have control. And I would much rather be able to see what this gifted child can do than snuff out the potential.” He tapped his fingers on the photos spread before him.

Black and whites, mostly, of a dark figure leaping across buildings. Floating in the air. Punching a mugger in the stomach. Carrying a small child from a blazing window. There were a dozen or so, some from newspapers, others glossy stills. 

Connie’s jaw clenched as her boss spoke. 

“Keep watching. We’ll strike and take Byers when she’s distracted. And then we’ll have Eleven at our disposal.”

“Yes, sir.”

She whipped around and stalked out of the office, but Brenner’s eyes were still staring down at the photographs. He crossed his arms, staring down at one where the young woman was standing in front of two kids on their bikes with her arm outstretched, towards a car that had its front smashed in, stopped still, almost flipped over from whatever invisible force it had collided with. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's a lot of flashbacks but i guess i'm just trying to make up for the lack of flashbacks in season three. lol i'm still salty oops. 
> 
> trying something different. i hope it makes enough sense but i wanted to make their friendship feel real. also mike is too forgiving but it's el and no matter the universe he wants to try and make her feel better because he's mike. always the best boy!
> 
> let me know what you liked. next chapter things are going to get a little more intense, and i like hearing your thoughts while i work at it. haven't been making as much forward progress as i want, so leave me a note and maybe i can figure out what i'm supposed to do next.
> 
> good night!  
> -g


	4. Watching through windows, you're wondering if I'm okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bear with me. i know this chapter is going to seem lame at first but something is finally going to happen.
> 
> i hope i'm not jumping the gun too much by posting this since i'm starting to catch up with myself. i know where i want the plot to go, it just hasn't been moving as much and i've been struggling the past week or so with several things and so this has moved to the back burner a bit. 
> 
> i guess that's my only update, so have at it.

Mike had lived through plenty of shitty days in his life, ones that were arguably more traumatic and upsetting then the basic stresses he’d been putting up with on this particular day. 

But he was still annoyed as hell.

At first he’d hoped maybe it just a minor setback and he would make it through alright, but as each hour ticked by, he quickly learned it was going to be a pinky-toe-stubbing, splinter, _and_ hangnail sort of a day.

First he’d missed his bus and had been twenty minutes late to work, realizing after it was pulling away from the curb that he’d left his lunch on the counter. Then, while at work—the place he only had to show up to in person three times a week—he’d pissed off his boss by accidentally submitting several half-finished articles instead of the finished drafts and caused a panic for the students _and_ professors waiting to post midterm grades. And, to put the cherry on the shit sundae, when he’d gone to his favorite coffee shop—the Quarry—to try and cheer himself up with a cup of tea and a conversation with the most beautiful, intelligent woman he’d ever met, she hadn’t even been there and he’d spilled his hot tea in his lap and damn near burned his junk off.

So yes, it was a shit day. 

It didn’t help that when he did finally make it home, after an embarrassing bus ride with his stained slacks, no one had been in the house to grump to. There had been a note on the fridge from Dustin claiming he’d gone home for the weekend because his mom was having some sort of fifth midlife crisis and had adopted ten cats, and then one from Lucas stating he wouldn’t be home that night or potentially the next two because of some girl he’d met—which made Mike roll his eyes—which meant he and Will would be the only ones there for the next two days. 

The thought of an emptier house wasn’t that bad, actually. Maybe instead of spending all of his money at coffee shops, he could work at home. Finally get the last batch of notes into the document on his desktop. But, of course, if he stayed home, he wouldn’t get to see Jane, and drink tea and coffee and see her sparkling eyes as she laughed and slapped his arm.

Yeah, no, he’d still be at the Quarry. It was the only place he was able to talk to her, and it was worth it every time. 

The quiet would be appreciated regardless, though Dustin leaving meant Will was most likely to be gone too, running the comic shop in its owner’s absence for some extra cash. So Mike might actually be totally alone, an entirely too rare opportunity. Unfortunately he didn’t have much use of an empty house. It’s not like he’d been on a date in the past six months. Or even the last year. And the one woman who had managed to pique his interest had turned him down anyways.

That thought always made him wince, embarrassed to even remember the rejection. Multiple rejections. Despite how interested she always seemed.

Throwing his bag onto the counter in the kitchen, he leaned against the fridge and let out a groan as the memory made him cringe all over again. 

What had he been thinking? Asking out someone he’d literally only just met while she was working, springing that on her when she’d looked so tired? And then persisting and asking _again_? It didn’t matter that she liked him, because she’d made it clear that her interest was limited to friendship. It was a story he knew well.

He’d had similar bad luck in his past, his crush in middle school decidedly uninterested in his scrawny, geeky self. In high school, he’d somehow had a thing for the prom queen—not even an option. And then two weeks into starting his new job at the university, he’d accidentally took one of his coworkers kindness as flirting, completely missing the sparkling diamond on her finger. Yeah, that one had been awkward. 

It wasn’t like he blamed the women for being people and having feelings that didn’t involve him, but it didn’t make it any less ego-shrinking that he couldn’t seem to do better than blind dates. And those rarely made it to a second date, never to a third. It was one of those things he tried to ignore, since everything else about his life was pretty good.

Pulling the refrigerator door open, he grabbed the milk carton, giving it a good sniff before pouring himself a glass. If there was ever a day to dwell on his suffering, it was this day at least. His misery couldn’t have company but it could cover all the bases. 

He made his way up to his room, almost feeling unnerved by the silence in the house, but then just feeling more miserable that he was so _alone_. 

Always alone. 

With a sigh he set his milk on his desk, reaching down to flick on the battered but reliable Dell CPU, turning on the monitor too and feeling slightly more at ease at seeing the familiar welcome message on the screen. What was the point of wallowing in his current misery when it was still miles better than his past misery? At least he was writing now, even if it was just his geeky fanfiction that would probably never get published. And he was less than a year away from getting his doctorate. He and his friends were just as close as ever, and got to live together away from their too small hometown. They weren’t geeky weirdos anymore.

It was a good life, right? They were happy and safe and doing what they loved. It’s not like he had to worry about losing any of it. 

With another rather unsatisfied sigh, he opened up the document that held his thesis, pulling out the notes he’d made from his research, the yellow notepads full of scribbles and circles and underlines and sentences that had been crossed out. It was a mess, but he knew what each note said, what it meant, and how it would fit together, what would support his arguments and what would frame his words and thoughts.

But instead of typing, his eyes wandered to the tattered copy of Hawking’s _A Brief History of Time_ next to him on the desk, thinking back to that first day when Jane had come and sat his table, surprising the hell out of him. She’d actually been interested when he’d talked about physics, astronomy, the idea of wormholes and breaks in the fabric of reality, of what their world could have been if a single thing had changed, what it might be like in a different universe. She’d listened and teased him, smiling and making him feel so… fucking special. 

The bag of tea that she had given him still sat on his desk. 

He hadn’t used any yet, even though it had been over a month. Sometimes he’d open it and just give it a whiff, enjoying the sweet maple scent. It had been so unexpected, such a small act of kind generosity, and it made him smile some days when nothing else did, the thought of her instantly soothing him. The past few weeks they had talked about… everything. Well, he had, at least. She didn’t seem comfortable telling him about her family or friends or where she was from, usually bringing up things that had happened at work or in the city. He didn’t pry, worried it would turn her off to wanting to talk to him. And besides, they weren’t limited to only discussing personal details. 

He knew there were plenty of women that read and wrote comics, Dustin was always bragging about chatting with “hot babes” in chat rooms and on message boards online, but he hadn’t expected to find one sitting in front of him who was not only interested in discussing the Maximoff family but was jaw-droppingly beautiful. She had the entirety of X-Men memorized, even the spin-offs, knowing each character and their backstories and their powers… it felt so good to talk to someone other than his friends about something he loved. The characters that had helped him through his sometimes depressing childhood, each one a freak, an outcast, but still strong and able to fight together, creating friendships and relationships that outlasted the villains and evil that came their way.

Also, he’d had a huge crush on Jean Grey, so even when the plots got a little tiring, he could power through to see what happened to her. Jane had found that particularly amusing but then confessed she’d had her own crush on Gambit, somehow making Mike feel at ease with another one of his embarrassing secrets. 

Her not only being stunning but also sharing his interests was so colossally cool, he couldn’t help but get a little fluttery when she sat across from him, laughing and smiling and being so interested in _him_. It was like being caught in bright, warm sunbeam.

He let out a long breath, snapping out of his thoughts and focusing back on his computer, shaking his head at himself. It was stupid to spend so much thinking about her. She’d made it clear the past few months that they were friends—barely. As much as she seemed to enjoy his company, she never made an attempt to seek him out once they left the cozy coffee shop. Which was fair. He was grateful to be allowed around her at all, since she seemed rather closed off. It was enough, it wasn’t like he _needed_ more from her.

But he wouldn’t pretend like he wasn’t widely attracted to her bright eyes, the way she would bite her plush lips when she was trying to hold in a laugh, how even though she seemed exhausted, she would make time to say hi after shifts instead of going straight home and getting some much needed sleep before her “other job” that she’d mentioned only once before in passing. Her mass of loose brown curls that tumbled around her head, how she would fiddle with whatever was in front of her, his books or napkins or the hair tie that lived around her wrist, like she couldn’t stand to be still for too long. She was just so… unlike anyone he’d ever met, at home or even during his time in Chicago.

He wanted to know everything, to hold her fidgety hand and see her smile, just for _him_ , her doe-eyes glowing as she caught him in her stare. To lean down and press his lips to hers, to feel her against him, hold her close and lose himself entirely in the silkiness of her brunette locks and plush, pink lips and soft, pale skin. 

God, he wanted that. But he knew it wasn’t what was going to happen, so instead he accepted what she offered with open hands, hoping she knew how much he appreciated being allowed to just… exist in her orbit. 

His attraction to her wasn’t more important to him than her friendship, even if it was hard sometimes to separate the two.

Actually, it was fucking impossible to not be attracted to her. He had _eyes_ after all, and 20/20 vision courtesy of his mother’s genetics. He’d noticed her the first time he’d walked into that coffee shop, when she’d looked so exhausted and brushed him off. Sometimes he wondered why he had bothered her that next day, with his lame joke. Every single past experience he’d had with women had told him to fuck off, but he’d done it anyway.

And now… he was stuck at arm’s length. 

_“You’ve got mail!”_

The electronic voice made him jump, startled, as the animation of the letter flitted across the screen, bringing him back from his thoughts. With a tired groan, he realized he’d just wasted twenty whole minutes thinking about Jane. _Again_. 

He let out a frustrated sigh, stubbornly collecting his thoughts and throwing them at the screen in front of him, fussing with his notepads until he found the right one, carefully typing out the quote and citing it properly, adding the source to his bibliography, framing it with his own ideas and arguments, rereading it and then moving on to the next paragraph where he did it again. Over and over and over. 

The process lulled him into a state of near-subconsciousness, his brain automatically forming the sentences and putting it all together, hardly taking any effort as he typed, keys clacking as his fingers moved faster, a machine, barely blinking as the hours passed. 

And _many_ hours passed, more than he’d thought. Without the sounds of his friends waking the house and popping their heads in to ask him questions, he’d let himself turn into an academic zombie longer than usual.

He glanced at the clock, realizing was half past midnight, way later than he’d expected. Which was odd, because he hadn’t heard Will come home. The comic shop closed at nine, and usually only took an hour to fully close up. Maybe Dustin was having him do inventory? Will could definitely use the extra pay this month.

Mike frowned, standing up and then pausing to stretch, twisting his arms behind his shoulders and letting out a soft grunt as the muscles that had become stiff were loosened. His glass of milk was long gone and he considered getting another but then decided he should probably try calling Will at the shop, rolling his chair across the room towards the phone that sat on his bedside table, picking it up and trying to remember the number.

_Bam!_

Before his fingers could even start dialing, there was the sound of something heavy hitting the roof, then scrabbling and more thuds, more _things_ smashing into the shingles and—

“Agh!” It was a voice. Low and masculine. “Gah!”

There was the unmistakable sound of human yells, some cut off in the middle, angry, bellowing, and all almost directly outside of his window. Mike’s heart started racing as he sat frozen, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. 

A few weeks ago he’d thought he’d heard something outside but figured it was just some squirrels or something. But this… this sounded like _people_. 

_Many_ people. _Wrestling_ on his _roof_.

For a second he considered calling the police, but then he heard it, the sound of someone crying out in pain, and instead of sitting and waiting for someone else to do something, he decided he had to act. He jumped up, running to his bed and pulling up the fitted sheet that was tucked under his mattress, grabbing the only thing he thought might help whoever was hurting outside.

The gun fit in his hand perfectly, the instinct his sister had helped train into him taking over as he tapped the side of the barrel and turned the safety off, his pulse pounding in his ears. Yeah, he’d accepted it _and_ the lessons when she’d given it to him before he’d moved away, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to have some sort of protection in the house if necessary. But even though he had a conceal and carry permit, he still hadn’t ever taken it out of its hiding place. 

God, was he really going to use it?

“ _No_!” 

It was a cry, a plea, less than ten feet away from where he was standing.

Mike stopped thinking, instead crossing the distance between his bed and the window, unlocking it and slamming it open, outward, feeling it hit something solid. Someone—a man concealed in all black clothing—yelled, and then there was scrabbling as the figure lost its balance and toppled off the roof. Mike tried to ignore the sickening thud from below, eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, making out the other heavy set figure dressed in black, the light from the open window glinting off the knife clenched in a fist. It was pinning down a smaller figure by the throat, all in black as well, but the coat that had been covering it ripped open, a single white “011” emblazoned across the chest that was heaving, struggling. It whimpered and he realized it was a woman, the one he’d heard cry out.

Without thinking, Mike cocked the gun, aiming for the larger figure and yelping out a “hey!”, feeling anger darken his gaze. He didn’t know who these people were or why the fuck they were on his roof attacking some woman, but he knew he wasn’t going to allow it.

“Let her go,” he commanded, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. “Or I’ll shoot.”

The man looked up, eyes widening in surprise, and it was enough of a diversion that the woman was able to free an arm, winding back and punching him _hard_ , so hard he staggered back, stumbling. She quickly leapt to her feet, her back to Mike, delivering another blow to the back of the thug’s head and then kicking him right off the roof, her heavy boot knocking him down and there was another thud from below. For a moment she stood there panting—close enough to where Mike was standing in his window that he could have reached out and touched her—looking down, like she wanted to make sure they weren’t going to try and climb back up.

And then her knees gave out.

Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to set the gun down on the windowsill and catch her at the same time, but she landed in his arms and he let out a grunt of surprise at her sudden weight. For being so small, it felt like she was almost entirely made of muscle. It took more effort than he expected to haul her backwards, away from the edge of the roof, pulling her in through the window and then over to his bed, carefully setting her down on the soft quilt. 

For a second Mike just stared down at her, taking in her rather uncouth appearance, not really sure what to do. Her eyes and nose were covered with a black mask that stretched across her temples, the skin around her eyes painted black to match, her hair slicked back from her face into a tight bun that sat on the back of her head, clearly to keep her identity secret. She was unconscious but breathing heavily, little whimpers of pain escaping her mouth—and he suddenly realized that the blue plaid fabric she was lying on was turning darker as red liquid soaked the material. 

She was _bleeding_.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” he gasped, looking around and grabbing the box of tissues off his desk and then shaking his head, realizing that wouldn’t be enough. “Fuck, shit—Towels! I need towels!”

He darted out into the hallway, opening the linen closet full of extra blankets and towels, grabbing a few and then racing back into his room. She must have come to, groaning and trying to sit up but falling back onto the bed and then rolling onto her side, writhing in pain. By the time he made it back to her, she’d managed to get the shredded black jacket off of her frame, and Mike couldn’t help but gulp as he noticed that beneath it she was wearing a reinforced leather suit, tight and form-fitting to allow mobility, but also tight enough to show off the gentle curves along her body.

 _What the fuck are you looking at, you creep?! She’s fucking bleeding!_ He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment at his own idiocy. _God, you’re pathetic, you know that?_

“Here!” He reached forward, trying to find the source of the bleeding, catching a flash of paleness along her side. There was a slash in the suit just above her right hip, tearing the leather open and exposing her cream-colored skin and then _red_ , a jagged slice, and so much red. He quickly pressed one of the towels over it, feeling bad as she yelped but knowing the bleeding needed to be stopped. “Oh shit, this looks really bad, I don’t know—”

“Left belt pocket,” she managed to get out between gritted teeth. “Check it.”

There was heavy duty belt wrapped around her hips, a few pouches attached on either side, and he quickly reached for the left side, opening the first one but then moving on to the next when she shook her head. Inside he found a small black case, popping it open. A row of small syringes were tucked into the elastic, full of liquid, and he glanced up at her, confused. 

“Bupivacaine. Grab two,” she panted, wincing, “stick me. Next to the cut.”

“ _What_?!”

He stared at her with wide eyes, trying to understand if she was serious. She wanted him to just jam needles into her?! God, he’d almost passed out getting his last tetanus shot, there was no way he could do this.

She whimpered, writhing again, eyes rolling back like she was about to pass out, the pain clearly unbearable. “ _Please_.”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he grabbed two of the needles as she peeled the towel away from her side so he could see, pulling the sterile caps off. Taking a deep breath, he jabbed one towards the bottom end of the slash, pushing the plunger down and grimacing as she winced. The second one was easier and after another few tense breathes, her body relaxed and she let out a relieved whine. Her hand grabbed the towel again, firmly pressing it back against the wound, huffing through her nose as she did so. Mike quickly grabbed the other towel as the one beneath her hand turned red, putting a firm pressure over it, both of them breathing frantically as they worked together to try and slow the bleeding. 

The room was eerily silent, only the sound of their panting filling the air as Mike tried to process what the fuck had just happened and how he’d ended up in his current position when ten minutes earlier he’d been sitting at his desk typing away just like any other night. He glanced over at his computer, where the dim pages of his thesis still lit the screen, making sure he wasn’t totally crazy.

Her voice, soft and sudden and oddly familiar, brought his attention back to his red-stained hands still pressing the towel against her side.

“Thank you.”

It was said so quietly he almost didn’t hear it over their ragged breathing, but he let himself look up from his bloody hands to meet her eyes. They were the only part of her face that was really visible, golden-brown and speckled with soft green flecks, staring back at him and full of an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Like she was surprised by the sight of him, despite the fact that they’d been inches away from each other for the past several minutes. 

Some part of him felt like she knew him, watching as she scanned his face, lips gaping as she panted, but then she looked away, too quickly. “Thank you for not letting them letting kill me. And for not letting me fall off the roof. Or bleed to death. That was… I mean, thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“Um, yeah—I-I mean, no, uh, I, uh, well, you scared the hell out of me,” he managed to sputter. He didn’t really understand what she meant by not having to help her. Should he have just let her _die_? “Um, was there a reason you were on my roof? Specifically, fighting several large men on my roof? And almost dying?”

“—Yes.” The word took a while to leave her lips, followed by measured silence as she kept her eyes down. “But I shouldn’t tell you.”

“That is… not exactly reassuring.” 

He finally paused enough to _really_ take her in, the suit with the number, the mask and belt of tools, the hidden identity. The number, 011, rang some sort of bell in his head and he stared at it for a second before it hit him. “Eleven?”

Suddenly the voice of the local news anchor was in his head, newspaper articles he’d read swimming through his mind, Dustin’s excited yelling about a real life superhero, all saying the same thing. Eleven. The local superpowered vigilante who fought crime and left criminals on the doorstep of police stations. Who had saved countless people and children and animals, from fires and muggings. She could float through the air and shift heavy objects, stop speeding cars, whisk grannies across traffic, could pull cats out of trees with a flick of her wrist and a smile. 

She was a superhero. A real one. Sitting on his bed as he held a towel to her bleeding side.

“Holy shit, _you’re_ Eleven?!” 

He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice but she just seemed to wince at the loudness, still staring away from him. She shifted a bit, sitting up and causing him to scoot a little further away, as if wanting to distance herself from the whole conversation. 

She sighed. “What gave it away?”

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking awesome,” he blurted, “you’re like, a real life X-Men.”

She seemed tired but nodded. “Sure.”

The bleeding seemed to have slowed and he paused his fanboying as she peeled the towel away from her side. The wound was at least half an inch deep, and two inches wide, gaping and angry, but luckily not straddling any main arteries, the blood starting to congeal and slow. She had been stabbed apparently, during the fight, which must have been when the attackers had gained the upper hand. Whatever had been in the needles had been enough to keep her from going too insane with pain, but Mike was pretty sure it would need stitches, something he didn’t have immediate access too. 

As much as he wanted to bombarde her with questions— _did she really have powers? What kind?_ —he knew they had to take care of her first, or at least get the wound bandaged up until she could make it to the hospital. Did he need to take her to the hospital?

Taking a deep breath, he scooted off the bed and stood up, realizing she probably needed some space too. 

“Um, that probably needs to be cleaned. We have some peroxide and gauze in the bathroom… do you think you can make it…?” He immediately felt like a moron for asking. She had freaking _superpowers_. Of course she could make it twenty feet to his bathroom. 

She sat up, planting her feet, and then grimaced as she tried to stand, clearly struggling. “Okay, yeah, um… can you help me?”

It took a bit of effort, but she managed to lean against him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, supporting her weight, both of them staggering to the bathroom. He helped her sit on the toilet lid, quickly digging under the sink until he found a box of bandages. Bandaids wouldn’t really help, but luckily there was some gauze and medical tape, and he quickly pulled them out along with a bottle of peroxide. If the wound got infected she would be out of commission. Sepsis was a drag. 

They were both quiet as he worked, and he felt a little bad for totally freaking out earlier about her being a superhero. Yeah, it was cool, but clearly not _that_ cool, considering she’d been beaten, choked, and almost bled out on his bed just a few minutes ago. Had it been chance, that the scuffle had been on his roof instead of literally anywhere else? It seemed excessively random, and he couldn’t help but want to know more. Was it a secret mission? Who were the men?

“Um, sorry for losing my cool. I’m Mike by the way,” he said distractedly as he carefully poured the peroxide over the slash in her skin. “I know you said you can’t tell me why exactly you were on my roof but is there anything you _can_ tell me? I feel like I have the right to be curious, since I, uh, saved your life after all.”

He chanced a grin in her direction, hoping she caught the tease in his voice, but she refused to meet his eyes still. Instead, it was quiet but he kept working on bandaging her up, deciding she didn’t have to answer if she really didn’t want to. Maybe it was better not to know.

“I’ve been on your roof. Every night. Since September.” 

He paused, blinking at her, surprised by… all of it. “Oh.” His cheeks flushed. “Like, spying or…?”

A snort. “No. I was keeping a lookout. I didn’t know you lived here until just now. There’s four of you…” She hesitated, then let out a breath. “You and Will have upstairs, the other two are downstairs.”

“You’re not wrong,” he agreed, somewhere between confused and annoyed that he hadn’t noticed an entire human being outside of his window for _almost two_ _whole months._ “Um, keeping a lookout? On… us?”

She hesitated again, and he got the feeling she really shouldn’t be talking about, but wanted to. He dabbed the wound with some gauze, wincing in sympathy as she hissed in pain and shook her head. “On Will. But, I mean, all of you by default. That’s why I was on the roof.”

“So you could be close to his window,” he figured. He blinked, shooting her another quick look, wondering why the hell she was guarding Will of all people. As far as Mike knew, Will hadn’t done anything that would require a superhero guardian to keep an eye on him. Maybe his mom was paying Eleven to watch out for her son? She _was_ that kind of person.

He opened his mouth to ask more, but then closed it. Did he actually want to know? Yes. Should he know? Probably not. And it didn’t seem fair to pry the information out of her when she looked tired and was in pain. 

It seemed important, but he decided to give her a minute to and rest, so he went back to patching her up, getting the bandages out and gently pressing them over the angry slash. He couldn’t help but let his gaze wander up to her face as she stared intently at the towels on the rack that were just over his shoulder, like she was trying to concentrate on it instead of the gaping flesh wound in her side. Her eyes were so intense, the dark color painted around them making them even more vivid somehow, the light catching the flecks of vibrant green that dotted the light amber irises. She had a soft, heart-shaped face, plush pink lips, and defined cheekbones, one of which had a bruise slowly forming on its graceful slope. 

It took him a second to realize… she was stunningly pretty. Or at least what he could see.

Her gaze flicked from the towel back to him, meeting his stare, and he immediately flushed and looked away, finishing up with tape and bandage and then sitting back on his calves. 

“Um, that’s the best I can do, but you probably need stitches. Should I call a taxi or…?” he trailed off, not really sure what the protocol was for trying to help a masked, _injured_ superhero get home. 

“No thanks… I don’t think that would go too well,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have my ways of getting back but, um, thanks?”

“You should just, uh, probably head to a hospital or something. As soon as possible.”

“Also kind of a no. But I know someone who can stitch me up, so again, thanks but no thanks.”

She didn’t make any immediate move, but Mike wasn’t sure whether or not to offer help and instead sat on the floor awkwardly, the space between them filled with a silence that clearly neither knew how to fix. He was still full of questions, but she looked so uncomfortable and unsure that he bit his lip and kept them at bay, trying just think of something, _anything_ , that would maybe make her feel better.

But what did you say to a vigilante who had just battled thugs and then bled all over your bed? Who was silent and mysterious and didn’t seem to want to talk? Who was also nerve-wrackingly pretty and possibly in need of help?

What the hell _was_ there to say?

“You, um, you hungry?” He blurted, then flushed again, feeling stupid. It was the only thing he could think of. “I mean, you look tired, it’s late and you lost a lot of blood… I don’t know, do you want some tea or coffee or something?”

She blinked for a second, eyes wide, and he was sure she was going to ask him to never to talk to her again. Instead, her whole demeanor softened, shoulders dropping as she nodded. “Actually, I would love that. Something sugary works best… my blood sugar gets low when—” 

She seemed to catch herself, the words dying in her throat.

“—When I fight,” she finished lamely.

“When you use your powers?” he guessed, filling in the blanks too easily. 

For a second, the earlier tension filled her face again, but then she relaxed and nodded hesitantly. “Yeah. And I just threw like ten guys twice the size of me off of your roof. Which wouldn’t normally be so bad except for the blood loss. I’m, um, pretty fucking tired. Trying to leave right now probably would be a struggle.” She seemed to loathe to admit it, shrugging meekly. “Tea would be great, if you have some. I’m tired of coffee.”

“Is that it how it works? You can use up all your power, like a battery?”

“Um…” She squinted thoughtfully. “Kind of. It’s like a muscle. The more I use it and train it, the less easily exhausted I get. When I first started I’d get, like, winded from just one jump. And my nose would _always_ bleed. I’d have to really concentrate. But it’s been a long time since then and I’m stronger so…” She shrugged, blinking up at him. “I’m low now because I lost blood, just like an athlete would be. Food and glucose help, and a short rest, and I’ll be good to go again.”

The last bit came out a little more pointedly, and Mike quickly took the hint. He didn’t hesitate, standing up to his full height and offering a hand. “Think you can make it down to the kitchen? There’s stairs but not too many.”

“Yeah.”

She stood up, ignoring his hand, and he quickly got out of her way, watching as she carefully rose to her feet, the heavy boots she was wearing helping to keep her feet stable as she stumbled into the hallway. She followed him to the stairs, which he took first, and they slowly made their way down, each step taking her a few breaths before she went down another, but Mike let her take her time, going at her pace. At one point she tripped a bit, or maybe just staggered, and her hands caught his shoulders. They were at her level anyways, fingers digging into his shirt as she gasped and righted herself, but he didn’t complain.

She kept one hand there, braced against his shoulder blade for support, as they continued their slow journey down. It was a soft, featherlight touch—surprisingly gentle for someone who had just fought off huge ten men and could probably pulverize him with a single punch.

A warm shiver trailed down his spine, but he tried to ignore it.

The second they made it into the kitchen, she staggered over to the table and collapsed into a chair, wincing as the action tugged on the bandaged wound. Mike went to the cabinet first, pulling out some painkillers, and then quickly filled a cup of water before he set the kettle on the stove. He set both things in front of her and she said nothing but gave him a grateful look as she took them, throwing her head back and swallowing. It was hard not to notice how gracefully she moved, the pale curve of her throat, her eyes closed, lips pursed.

He couldn’t help but gulp. It was impossible not to notice, but he really was trying. 

Luckily he’d managed to tear his eyes away before she opened hers back up, mind racing to think of something to say… or maybe just a distraction for himself. The kettle on the stove let out a low rumble, and he remembered he was supposed to be making her tea.

And then it him.

“Um, I have this really good tea…” he blurted, blinking rapidly. “It’s amazing, um, I’m going to go grab it really quick. Don’t go anywhere.”

He turned on his heel, an amused snort following him as he raced back up to his room, snagging the bag of “Maple Syrup Drizzle” tea off his desk. He’d sort of been saving it, but figured the superhero sitting in his kitchen in need of a recharge was the special occasion he’d been waiting for. And he even had Eggos! It would be perfect the snack before Eleven would go on her way.

Too bad Jane wouldn’t believe he’d used her tea to feed and strengthen an actual superhero. Or that he’d saved said superhero’s life. He had a feeling she was going to love the story anyways, maybe just because it would give her something to tease him about. A smile tugged his lips at the thought as he thudded back down the stairs.

When he made it back to the kitchen, the kettle was starting to peep and he didn’t waste any time, opening the cabinet where they kept their tea and digging out a diffuser, snagging a black mug with a white Rebel Alliance symbol emblazoned across it, the first one he could get his hands on, just as the telltale whistle started to shriek. It was an oddly comforting ritual, pouring hot water over the tea, seeing the tiny flecks of dried leaves that always seeped out floating to the top. He added a generous amount of sugar, and then easily moved to the freezer, digging through opened bags of mini tacos and pizzas until he found the yellow box.

The waffles slipped into the toaster and he stirred the tea a few times as they cooked, dipping the infuser into the hot water until he felt it was thoroughly steeped. Part of him couldn’t believe what he was doing and he kept stealing glances over at the table, where Eleven sat, staring off at something with a worried look on her face. 

The toaster popped up, making him jump, almost spilling the tea, and he snorted at himself in annoyance. It made sense why he was still a little high strung, but there had been no reaction from the superhero waiting patiently, and he quickly tossed the hot waffles onto a plate and walked over to the table. 

When he sat them down in front of her, she looked up at him with huge, startled but unreadable eyes, and he realized he’d offered no explanation for the bizarre choice of snack. 

“Oh, right, um, I have this friend and she gave me this really good maple tea and it goes super well with Eggos—” He glanced at his meager offerings sheepishly. “I haven’t actually had them together yet because I was kind of saving it but she always seems to know what she’s talking about so I just thought—”

“It’s—” She interrupted him, dodging his gaze, looking almost like she was ready to cry. After a second she picked up one of the Eggos and cleared her throat, her face oddly empty. “Don’t worry. It’s perfect.”

She began to eat, scarfing the food down like she hadn’t eaten in days, sipping the tea between each bite. Her shoulders relaxed, the tension that had been vibrating through her since she first appeared at his window starting to ebb away. By the time the mug and plate were empty, she seemed much more… normal. Like someone you would meet in a coffee shop or see sitting across from you on the bus.

Other than the mask and costume, of course. And apparent superpowers.

Dustin had always been the most obsessed with the story of their own local superhero, had always brought her up and wondered who she could be. It had been exciting, interesting, but in a way it never felt _real_ to Mike, not someone he could ever meet or even catch sight of. Just another comic book story. 

And yet she was sitting at his kitchen table eating toaster waffles in the middle of the night as if it was the most normal and sane thing in the world. 

“Um, is there anything else I can do…?” He shifted from where he’d been standing against the counter, and when she turned to look at him, he felt his heart flutter unexpectedly inside his ribcage.

Eleven shook her head. “Honestly, you did way too much already.” Her eyes dragged across his but the terrifying steel from earlier had softened, replaced with a gentle warmth that filled him like tea being poured into a mug. “But thanks, Mike.”

The way she was looking at him felt familiar, or maybe he seemed familiar to her, the way she talked and said his name. The tilt of her chin, and the curl of her lips. He blinked, shaking the thought away, knowing it was probably just the shock or the adrenaline wearing off, or the fact that he’d been awake for a good sixteen hours, or maybe even it was just projected longing creeping out of the crevices of his mind. It had to be his brain wanting something it couldn’t have, putting it where it was suddenly accessible, attaching feelings where they didn’t belong. What else it could be?

He squinted at her, letting his posture match her own relaxed stance, a relieved smile on his face. “Thanks for, uh… keeping an eye on us? I guess it’s nice to know that if a bunch of huge guys try and attack me, I’m covered. Will you still be out there?”

“If I need to be,” she said simply. “You know you can’t tell anyone about this right?”

Jane’s laughing face popped into his head before he could stop it but he quickly nodded and brushed his disappointment off, realizing she was right, of course. “Yeah, yeah, I mean, you’re like, an actual superhero on a mission or whatever,” he blurted out, nodding like an idiot. “It’s not like anyone would believe me anyways. It’s fine. I won’t put you in danger or anything.”

His words jolted her like an electric shock. She stood up rather suddenly, shaky but determined, eyes finding the stairs they’d come down, the nervous energy back in her tensed shoulders. “I know it sounds cliche, but it’s for your own protection. I need to go, I’ve been here too long.” 

Mike realized what she meant, unable to hide his surprise and an even stronger pang of disappointment. Of _course_ she had to go. “Wait, back out the window? We have multiple doors…”

“I don’t want your neighbors to see me either,” she explained, ignoring his concern, back turned to him as she began to make her way slowly up the stairs. “The less people who know, the better. Superhero code or whatever. It’s not personal.”

“Gotcha…”

He followed her up the stairs and back to his room, watching as she reached down to her belt and snagged what looked like an ordinary beeper. It looked a little smashed and she seemed to notice too, a frown dragging her face as she poked at it for a second before giving up and snapping it back into place on her hip. Her heavy boots thunked against the wooden floor as she turned her attention to the window, bouncing up onto the sill in a single silken move. Mike couldn’t help but wince at the sudden movement, but she didn’t seem to notice, and he wondered if she was used to being in pain.

“Um, Eleven?” He went to the window as she shuffled out onto the roof, leaning his body against the sill. He wasn’t ready to lose sight of her yet. 

“Yeah?” she turned, still crouched low onto a knee, one hand balancing herself on the window frame, mere inches away from him. 

“Am I going to like, see you around again or…?” 

She snorted. “Not if you’re lucky.” Her eyes met his, and again, she seemed to soften, her dappled gaze burning against him in the dim light. “But, I mean, if I’m out here and need anything I promise I’ll knock on your window, okay?” Her pink lips slipped into an amused smirk, mirth lighting her up like a lamp. “You’re alright, Mike,” she teased, “a true… sidekick.”

He flinched in mock hurt, falling into his usual, good-natured, defense mode the second her voice took on the usual teasing tone. “ _Sidekick_? Ouch. I was hoping for friends, maybe?”

A soft sigh left her, black-painted eyes crinkling merrily behind the mask, and then she was leaning forward, closer and closer, so close he could feel her breath on his face, the smell of leather and sweat filling his nose. Mike froze as her lips met his, and they were unexpectedly _soft_ , her hand pressing against his shoulder as she kissed him. 

She was _kissing_ him.

His heart went _nuts_ , pulse pounding in his ears as a warmth filled his lips and traveled to his chest, butterflies made of fireworks exploding in his stomach. It took half a second and he managed to react, leaning forward into her, his own hand finding the curve of her chin as he kissed her back, their lips dancing against each other. Another sigh left her, filling his mouth as she opened and deepened the kiss, and he wanted to loosen her hair from its bun and run his fingers through it, pull her to him and feel her against his chest, fall into her and never let go—

She pulled back too suddenly, with a soft gasp, and Mike almost fell forward out of the window as she backed away, her gloved hand leaving his shoulder. His fingers splayed against the sill, catching himself so he could see the unbidden look of pure _longing_ that filled her eyes as she stood up, her piercing stare rooting him in place.

“Definitely not _friends_ , Mike.”

He wasn’t given the chance to react this time, the words barely processing before she took four steps back and vanished over the side of the roof. There was no thud, there was no sound at all, no indication of where she went or how. 

Eleven was gone.

Mike blinked several times, still leaning against the windowsill. After another few quiet moments where he caught his breath, he turned, pulling his endorphin-muddled brain into the middle of the room. His eyes drifted back to the window, then to his desk, then the window again as he wondered if he had just fallen asleep at his computer and was having a weird dream. An unusually intense and specific dream, with an ending that most definitely some sort of weird fantasy he’d dreamed up.

Because there was no way a gorgeous _superhero_ had crashed into _his_ room after fighting off bad guys on his roof. And that she’d been badly injured and he’d helped give her painkillers and bandages. And then fed her Eggos and tea. And chatted like they were old friends.

There was absolutely no way in _hell_ she’d kissed him like her life had depended on it at his window and then disappeared into the night.

It had to be a hallucination. Or a fever dream. He was sick, he was crazy, he was losing his mind, right?

Walking over to his bed, he reached out, pressing his fingers against the dark blue fabric, needing an answer. He inhaled sharply as he pulled away, the proof that it had all really happened staining his hand red. Her blood was still there, the same blood that stained the towels he would find in the bathroom, a pile of gauze, an empty cup of tea on the kitchen table, all the clues he needed to realize one thing:

He wasn’t crazy.

Reaching up with his other hand, he tentatively brushed it across his lips—that were suddenly tingling, the taste of syrup still on his tongue. Only one thought filled his mind, spilling out of his mouth and filling the now too-quiet room.

“What the _fuck_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are heating up ooooooh
> 
> i forgot how much fun it is to write from mike's perspective. he's such a goof, but he just wants to be accepted and loved and god, he doesn't even know it, but he's going to get everything he deserves. and poor, sweet el. we'll get back into her head next time.
> 
> anyways, if you want to drop a comment i would really appreciate your thoughts! i love predictions and sometimes i even answer questions in sneaky ways. 
> 
> -g


	5. All I need is a good defense, cause I'm feelin' like a criminal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't expecting that last chapter to be received with so much enthusiasm but i have to admit, i'm so glad that a lot of you seemed to love it! i've really been fighting with my insecurities lately and when i posted it i wasn't in a good state of mind at all, but seeing how excited people were was like...just, exactly what i needed, so thank you so much.
> 
> i'm not even gonna pretend one of my huge reasons i wanted to write this AU wasn't being able to write two different meet-cutes lmao.
> 
> anyways, back to el and her panic.

Eleven watched the sun rise from where she was curled up on the fire escape, the golden light gently filling the cold, November sky. It was clear and crisp and _freezing_ and she’d been huddled in her hiding spot for hours, the warm tea and food long gone, waiting. Her side throbbed, the wound hot and pulsing beneath her glove every time she dared to touch it, a stark contrast to the rest of her shivering body, but at least it was clean and bandaged, unlike most nights when she ended up waiting outside that particular apartment building.

Her eyelids kept fluttering shut, only for her to jerk and readjust, trying to keep from falling asleep. She could probably use the rest, but she was too afraid to let her unconscious take over, afraid of what she would see or dream—what she would _think_ —if she let the careful restraint of her mind she was tightly gripping onto falter. 

Because, in all honesty, she was barely keeping it together.

_Slam!_

The sound she’d been waiting for alerted her to the arrival of the apartment’s inhabitant and Eleven quickly sat up, unable to keep from groaning as blood flowed back into her stiff joints. More sounds came from inside and she reached out, tapping the window three times in a row, then twice, then once. The noises inside paused. Footsteps, the window slid open, the familiar wild mane of red hair blowing in the chilly breeze as a woman in pale scrubs gave Eleven a worried look, icy blue eyes scanning for any obvious injuries.

“Hi, Max,” Eleven greeted meekly. “It’s nothing too bad today.”

The worry left the redhead’s face, exasperation quickly replacing it. “That’s what you said last time and yet I still ended up digging a bullet out of your shoulder,” Max huffed as she held out her hand to the injured vigilante.

Eleven took the offered hand and slid inside, watching as Max shut the window behind her. She attempted to smile. “It’s not a bullet wound! No guns this time. But um…” She walked over to the leather couch, sitting down and taking off her jacket before carefully peeling the bandage off of her side to expose the wound. “I hope you don’t mind doing some stitches?”

“Jesus! Did you get _stabbed_?! Is that supposed to make me feel better?!”

“There were ten of them and they were twice my size. This isn’t that bad,” she protested. “And look, it’s been disinfected _and_ bandaged! It just needs stitches, it’s too deep or I would have glued it myself. Everything else is just the usual bruised ribs and stuff. It could have been worse.”

Max gave her another once over, noting the bruise on her cheek and swollen knuckles, sighing as she pulled the well-used medical kit out of the closet and set it on the coffee table. “We had like ten shit explosions last night, so honestly, stitches sound kind of fun. I’m so over wiping butts.”

“Ew,” Eleven offered, letting the other woman exam her face and hands before turning her attention back to the wound on her side. “One of these days I’m going to get you a World’s Best Nurse mug, I swear. It’s what you deserve.”

Max didn’t look up from the curved needle she was threading, instead letting out an amused snort. “You’d probably stop to kick someone’s ass and break it on your way over here.”

“Probably.”

There was the prick of a smaller needle before the throbbing in her side faded and Eleven let out a sigh, the pleasant numbness taking over the pain again. She didn’t even feel it when Max began to sew the wound shut, letting her head rest on the back of the couch, closing her eyes. 

God, she was tired. Now that the pain was gone, she could feel the dull throb in her temples and eyes, her stomach rattling and reminding her she needed to eat a real meal at some point. The fight and injury had exhausted her, and it had only been the glucose from the tea and waffles that had given her the energy to make it over. 

But losing the distraction of the pain allowed her mind to empty, other thoughts, fresh memories, brewing up, the feelings she had been stifling successfully since she hopped off the roof bumping against her consciousness. Grunting, she adjusted, digging her nails into the palm of her clenched fist, refusing to allow it. 

Because thinking about what had happened—what she had _done_ —made bitter panic well up in her throat. And the last thing she needed to do was panic, so instead of thinking about what had happened between her vigil on the roof and her vigil outside of Max’s apartment was forbidden, the feelings and memories packed way until she would have time to deal with them later.

She had bigger fish to fry, such as the gaping wound in her side and the fact that her only way to communicate when she was Eleven had been smashed during her fight. She needed to get home as soon as possible, call in sick to work, and head straight to Hopper’s, see if he’d dug up anything new, or if there’d been any news about Brenner and his operations. But she knew she couldn’t head home until she was stitched up, hating how blind she felt without her beeper.

It was how she always worked. Take care of the big things, put away the feelings into a box and seal them up and maybe open them up later. Or not, she usually got over it before she had time to unpack it, leaving it abandoned on the shelf. Ignoring the issues. Ignoring the fact that she could still feel his hands on her hips as he pressed the towel to her side, could see the excited light that had shone in his dark eyes as he handed over the tea and waffles, the smell of him when he’d been _so close_ —fabric softener and old books and man musk and Old Spice—still filled her nose.

The feel of his lips as he groaned into her mouth, hand cupping her chin.

“Did this one hurt?” Max’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Looks like it did.”

It took her a second to pull away from the warmth and dread that the memories brought and she quickly tried to repack the feelings back into their box, halfway succeeding. She nodded, looking down to where the other woman’s skilled hands were making quick work with the black thread. Fresh blood oozed out and she winced and turned away, feeling the burning tingle from when she’d been sliced despite the area being numb.

“Like a bitch. I had to use two bupivacaine just to get it cleaned and over here. I’m down to three…” she trailed off, feeling sheepish, dodging around the fact that she’d had help. “I don’t suppose I could get any more from you?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Max sighed. “Hold still though, I’m getting to the sticky part.”

Eleven did as she was told, feeling grateful for the tough, ER nurse who was willing to put up with her always dropping in, bleeding or broken or bruised. Before, Hopper had always done his best to patch her up, occasionally taking her to an Urgent Care Clinic if it was too much to handle. 

Finding Max had been an accident, but an incredibly lucky one. 

_“Let me go! I didn’t do anything!”_

_Eleven was heading home, sliding down alleys and hiding in shadows, feeling bruised and tired from an earlier fight with several gang members who’d been threatening a family, but the alarmed cry from further down the alley caught her ear. Instead of disappearing, she crept closer, spotting the woman wearing blue scrubs, her wrist clenched in the fist of tall man with long hair and an evil sneer._

_“You ruined my fucking life, you little bitch! And then you just leave, like you don’t have to deal with the consequences?” The fist clenched more tightly and the woman cried out in pain, struggling to free herself. “I’m gonna break you, just like you broke my fucking family.”_

_“Billy, stop! It’s not my fault, your dad cheated with my mom, I didn’t_ — _Ow, no no, please, don’t, Billy_ — _”_

_Eleven’s boot caught the asshole right in his side, knocking him away from the redhead who quickly scrambled further down the alley the second her wrist was free. “Billy” recovered more quickly than Eleven expected, turning and charging her with a roar, his fist catching her shoulder, making her yelp and stagger back, barely dodging the second punch. His eyes were wild, unhinged, pure hate and rage glaring at her as he bellowed and charged again. She was exhausted, twisting and dodging clumsily, barely able to land any blows, and she didn’t see him pull out the switchblade, didn’t know it was there until there was a sudden burning sting across her chest, sticky wetness soaking her suit._

_“Are you fucking kidding me?!” A burst of rage filled her, but she didn’t look down, not daring to look away from the crazed man for even a second. He was clearly beyond all reasoning. “You were winning and you pull out a knife anyways?!”_

_He didn’t answer, looking past her, at the redhead still cowering behind Eleven’s frame, and all at once she realized he wouldn’t give up until this woman was either dead or gone. With a shrug, she stepped to the side. “You want her so bad? Fine. I’m too tired for this bullshit.”_

_Billy sneered, eyes fixing back on his prey, nostrils flaring, teeth clenching. He charged and the woman screamed and Eleven stuck her foot out, her heavy boot catching his feet, his solid frame going down and sliding across the dirty alley face first. Before he could get back up she was on him, twisting his arms behind his back until he was yelling in pain, writhing beneath her, trying to rise._

_“Nuh uh, you fucking cut me, you asshole.” She used her power to give herself an extra edge, pinning him down. “I’ll only let you up if you leave her alone and never come back.”_

_“I’m gonna fucking kill her!” he snarled, bucking, eyes wild, damn near foaming at the mouth._

_“Nope, not an option.”_

_It only took a single blow to the back of his head and he was out like a light, limp beneath Eleven’s hold. She stood, looking over at the redhead who had been watching in stunned silence._

_“Your ex?”_

_It took a second for the other woman to clear her throat. “Step-brother. It’s a long story. Um, I’m Max… not that you probably care.” Her eyes were blue chips of ice, focusing back on the unconscious man. “He has some warrants, I’m pretty sure.”_

_Eleven grinned. “Perfect. I’ll leave him outside of the police station. They know what to do.”_

_For a second Max just nodded, but then gestured toward Eleven, at the bleeding skin exposed beneath her slashed suit. “You want me to clean that up first? I have stuff in my apartment.” Her finger pointed upward at the fire escapes overhead. “Fourth floor, I can meet you at the window? I’m an RN.”_

_Eleven knew getting civilians involved in anything she did was a bad idea. But it was too good of an opportunity to pass up, especially when she was still bleeding and knew her box of bandaids at home wouldn’t cover it. After a second, she nodded agreeably, twisting Billy’s other arm behind his back and gripping his wrists._

_“Lemme cuff him first.”_

She’d ended up leaving Billy tied up in the alley while Max had kindly cleaned her up and given her some meds. The asshole did in fact have several warrants for multiple assault charges and wound up in jail—he wouldn’t be seeing the light of day for several years. Eleven had meant for the situation to be a one time thing, but it soon became obvious that it was easier to go to Max when injured than create suspicion at a hospital. She never asked too many questions, knowing it was better to _not_ know, respecting the boundaries but loyally committing anyways. 

It was another odd relationship Eleven refused to consider a friendship, but the fierce ER nurse had at the very least become an ally. And she had a tendency to gossip about work and her own life, mundane but interesting, which was not only a great distraction as she picked glass out of Eleven’s knuckles or iced her bruised muscles, but was better than any soap opera.

And god only knew how much she needed a distraction right then.

“How’s that guy you’ve been seeing?” 

Max didn’t look up but let out a sigh. “Garbage. Haven’t heard from him in… how long since you were last here? Like three weeks? Longer than that. Never returned my call after the fourth date.”

“Shit, I thought things were going well,” she said with an empathetic wince.

“Yeah, well, my dumb ass always thinks they’re actually going to stay around so I end up having sex with them and then it’s mediocre and then they don’t call me back. I don’t know why I’m so bad at this,” she lamented, eyes never leaving her work. “My parents were shit at it, I guess it was my destiny.”

Eleven resisted the urge to shake her head, not wanting to disrupt the suturing process. “Our parents don’t decide how we’re going to be.” She couldn’t help but think of Mike, defying his dad’s wishes to find his own happiness. “If anything they teach us what _not_ to do. You just have to find someone who wants to try as hard as you do, I guess. I don’t know.”

The first thought of Mike made it all come rushing in and she felt her heart start to race, thinking of his kind eyes and warm smile. How soft his dark hair was when it had brushed against her face, his pale skin smooth and warm against her rough cheek, the taste of his lips—

“Well that’s surprisingly wise. I guess I forgot superheroes have parents too,” Max cut in as she turned to grab the medical scissors, snipping the thread. “But I suck at dating either way and I should probably give up. Do superheroes date?”

This time Eleven didn’t hold in her snort. “No. Come on, when did that ever end well? How many times has Superman barely saved Lois Lane? Jean Grey and Cyclops were always a mess, and I mean, Gwen Stacy _died_.” She shook her head. “Not to mention the double identity thing. God, let me just try and casually explain my two black eyes and busted ribs and, oh yeah, the _knife wound_. Can’t exactly explain that, and it would be impossible to hide if I was naked, which is a given.” She didn’t even realize she was ranting, but Max was kind enough not to interrupt her. “It’s irresponsible for superheroes to fall in love, and pointless. And, like, selfish _and_ stupid to put anyone in danger. Especially someone I love.”

Dark, espresso eyes, milky-midnight skin spattered with starry-freckles. Soft, pillow-y lips that groaned against her own, warm sweaters and a crooked smile, so familiar she couldn’t keep it from flashing into her mind for just a second.

“Sounds lonely…” Max leaned back, done with her task, letting a mischievous smirk twitch her lips. “And boring. Have you ever even kissed someone?”

Eleven flushed, suddenly defensive, the memory so fresh she could still feel it. “ _Yes_ ! In fact, I kissed someone last night—” Her voice caught, horror splashing across her face as she shook her head. “And I shouldn’t have told you that. I shouldn’t have even _done_ it—”

“Wait, wait, like, in costume with the mask and stuff?” The blue eyes were glowing with amusement and excitement, clearly ready to dig for details. “Oh, that’s kind of hot. Was he cute?”

It was the most innocent question, but it was the match dropped into the gasoline of emotions swirling around Eleven’s head, and everything she’d been holding back the past eight hours plus the months of fighting her attraction burst out with a single twitch of Max’s raised brow.

“ _Yes_ ,” she whined, falling back against the arm of the couch and covering her face with her hands. “He’s so fucking cute it makes my goddamn _teeth_ hurt but it was so stupid and I shouldn’t have done it! I think I was just— _woozy,_ from the pain and the adrenaline—and fucking stupid—”

“How’d you get close enough to kiss him?”

“Um, well, I was on his roof and he was in the window—”

“Ooooh,” Max cooed, eyebrows wiggling. Eleven rolled her eyes. 

“It’s only because he was cute _and_ nice _and_ helped bandage me up. And I maybe know him from my other job—”

She couldn’t mention the Eggos and tea without crying but Max was too busy trying to handle the newest bombshell she’d dropped to notice.

Max spluttered, “Wait, you know him from _both_ your lives?! And he doesn’t know it’s you?!”

“Of course not! Nobody does, you know that,” Eleven scowled, hating the reminder of how much she’d fucked up. “God, I shouldn’t have told you any of this—let alone _kissed_ him—”

“No, this is perfect,” Max cut in. “If you already know him, you know he’s not a creep and if he was nice and helped you that means he gives a shit even if you’re a stranger so he’s genuinely nice—Eleven, shit, this perfect. Make out with him! Again!” She barely paused, almost wiggling from excitement. “I mean, did he like it?”

A shiver ran down her spine, feeling the ghost of Mike’s hand cupping her chin as he pulled her closer through the window, a sigh leaving her lips. “Yeah.”

Max was suddenly grinning. “Oh, and you _really_ liked it. Well, shit, that settles it. Find him again, pull him down some dark alley and have your way with him!”

“Ew, Max, that sounds like the exact kind of person whose ass I would kick.”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right,” the redhead conceded. “But I mean, you could totally make out with him again through his window! Keep the mask and boots on, I’m sure he won’t question it and you can get some action in your righteously lonely life. It’ll be a story he can tell his friends for the rest of his life. You’ll be a legend.” 

It was such a mundane thing, talking about a guy, that she had allowed herself to get caught up. But at the mention of the mask and boots, Eleven was forced to remember who she was, and the guilt at her actions choked whatever she had been going to say next about Mike.

“Max…” she warned, reaching up to rub her temples, headache coming back in full bloom.

“Just _think_ about it. There’s literally no strings since he doesn’t know who you are. You can just stop showing up if you want and he can’t say shit. What’s the problem?”

“It’s more complicated than that—” Eleven shook her head, remembering the fighting that had taken place before the bandages and the waffles and the kiss. “I mean, I was there to _save his life_. I can’t just pop back in whenever! I’d put him in danger. Lois Lane, remember?”

“He’s already in danger apparently. At least he would hate it less,” Max argued, before sitting back with a sigh and a shrug. “But you don’t have to listen to me. I can just keep telling you about how much _my_ love life sucks and you can live vicariously through that instead.” She got up from the couch rather suddenly. “Also you’re good to go but try and take it easy for at least two days so the stitches can actually take hold. You know I hate redoing it.”

Eleven startled, glancing down at her side at the swollen flesh now interspersed with neat, black stitches. She re-covered it with the bandage and stood, sliding her jacket back on, glancing out the window. “Oh, awesome. Um, thanks again, Max.”

“Anytime.” It was said sarcastically but the redhead shot her a sly grin. “You know where I live.”

Eleven snorted as she slid back out the window. Going home was always a bigger challenge in the daylight, but with any luck the warehouse she kept her spare clothes in would be just as abandoned as usual. Max was in her kitchen, pulling something out of the freezer and turning the oven on as Eleven silently slid the window shut and climbed the fire escape to the roof. 

The tops of the buildings were where she felt the most safe, usually. By now she’d memorized them better than the sidewalks, knowing each building and window, who lived where, what alleys she’d been victorious in and which ones she’d limped out of. Her body slid through the air, her powers boosting her jumps, landing evenly on her feet as she jogged, bouncing silently across the city. 

Her mind was still racing, unable to keep Max’s words from echoing in her mind. She paused after her next jump to catch her breath, not quite up to strength, ducking behind a chimney and resting against the cool bricks. She couldn’t help but trace the path back into the neighborhood she’d become so familiar with the past few months, not actually close enough but somehow convinced she could almost spot Mike’s window.

It made her face flush, and she closed her eyes, _finally_ surrendering to the memories of the previous night in full.

She’d been utterly ambushed on the roof, lulled by the routine, and the goons hadn’t taken it easy on her, she would admit that. But the bigger surprise been Will’s roommate opening his window and saving her life with his gun—and the utter _fucked up_ shocker that had knocked the air out of her harder than any punch, was that Will’s roommate was _Mike_. 

_Her_ Mike. Or more specifically, Jane’s Mike. The one who made her days brighter and her nights more bearable, his dorky laugh and comics, arguing and teasing and making her smile just for the sake of it. The one whose hand she longed to hold, whose embrace she fantasized about, whose lips she’d been dying to taste. The first person to truly make her want to break her rule about dating, about falling in love.

The Mike she refused to admit she had fallen for.

And he’d been holding a handgun, trembling but determined, enough of a distraction that she’d been able to get back on her feet. The adrenaline had still been pumping through her veins, but the second the last bad guy had hit the ground, the burning pain from being stabbed and the shock of Mike’s identity had won and she’d passed the fuck out. When she’d come to, it had been pure agony, the wildfire of her open wound hazing her vision, and there’d been no time to process the fact that it was Mike swearing and scrabbling for a towel, looking nervous before injecting the local anesthetic into her so she could feel anything but the tunnel of pain. And he’d been there, pressing the towel so firmly against her, both of them stopping the bleeding, panting in synch.

She’d gone on pure instinct, saying thank you trying to treat him like any other good samaritan civilian, even though he was anything but. Which was true in more ways than one. Plenty of normies had helped her get back up during a fight, but none of them had done what he’d done. None of them had defended her, had taken up arms to keep her safe. 

No one else had ever _saved her life_. It had been… so _much_ , and when he’d started asking questions, she knew she had to answer. She owed him that much, when he looked at her with those dark eyes, as if he could see right through her.

It had been both a relief and a nightmare when he hadn’t recognized her. Well, he’d recognized her, Eleven, but not Jane. Part of her maybe had wanted him to… a big part. But what would that do? Nothing good, he would only be in even more danger as the only other person other than her adopted father who knew who she was.

And that was rule number one. No one could know. She wouldn’t break that rule, at least.

Luckily he’d been logical enough to suggest cleaning her wound, and while normally she would have refused and headed straight to Max’s, she was honestly too weak to say no. It was odd, how thoughtful and kind he was to her—despite her technically being a stranger. And she saw the way his gaze lingered on her, the looks familiar because it was the same way he looked at Jane, with bright interest.

She’d had a whole internal battle, sitting on the toilet lid while he dug out bandages and peroxide, trying to decide if she liked that he seemed to be attracted to both of her identities, or if she should be upset. Common sense had told her it didn’t matter, and she’d gone silent, wanting to stop thinking about him and his gentle hands for just a second. It was then, during his second round of questions, that it had hit her.

Mike was Will’s roommate. And he’d obviously been in danger that night, but on top of worrying about Will _and_ Dustin, she now had to worry about Mike being caught in the crossfires too. The ragged knot of anxiety that lived in her stomach tugged, and she’d gone silent again, zoning out and trying to think of _any_ way she could possibly make them all leave Chicago tomorrow, so they would be safe.

She had to keep him safe.

His naivety to the whole situation was the only reason he was being so kind, and it chafed against her as he tried to offer her a ride to the hospital. She’d want to just jump up and get out of there, before he could discover the truth, that _she_ was the reason he—and his best friends he talked so much about—were in danger. 

It was entirely _her_ fault. And if he knew, she was sure he would hate her.

Unfortunately, she knew she needed to rest a bit before she could leave, meaning she was stuck inside of _Will’s_ house with _Mike_ —his roommate and the beautiful man she was damn near in love with—alone. 

And then he’d had to go and offer her food—the exact thing she needed—and _tea_ , and there was no way she was going to say no, especially when he’d looked so adorably flustered. He broke her down so easily, and he didn’t even know. But nothing could have prepared her for what had happened next.

_Mike had been moving as quickly as his long, awkward limbs had let him, sputtering out something about tea and galloping upstairs before coming back and moving around the kitchen like a whirlwind. She allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment, trying to steel herself against how unexpected it was, the sight of Mike and all he was doing for her, how happy he was just taking care of her._

_The water glass in front of her was empty, her gaze tracing over the patterns in the marble glass as she heard the toaster ding and pop, noticing Mike jump in surprise out of the corner of her eye. After another moment he turned around, holding a plate and a Star Wars mug and scuffling over to her, setting them in front of her, the yellow waffles still steaming. The distinct scent of maple hit her nose as the tea wafted up to her, and she whipped her head up to look at him, utterly dumbfounded._

_He twitched nervously, gesturing at the food. “Oh, right, um, I have this friend and she gave me this really good maple tea and it goes super well with Eggos—” He glanced at his meager offerings sheepishly. “I haven’t actually had them together yet because I was kind of saving it but she always seems to know what she’s talking about so I just thought—”_

_Eleven felt her throat burning with emotion, eyes suddenly foggy, quickly dodging his gaze._

_Somehow he’d made her the perfect snack, her favorite comfort food, and he didn’t even know. It was like he was trying to be utterly perfect, but he wasn’t. He was just being… kind._

_And that only made him more perfect._

She’d dug into the food, the familiar taste soothing away her anxiety, and when he’d asked if there was anything more he could do, she’d felt so… grateful, and comfortable. Whoever she was, Mike seemed happy to be there with her, and that feeling alone made her forget her doubts for just a few minutes.

Just long enough for her break, to lose herself into the urges she’d been fighting and kiss him.

The memory was so fresh and alive, his taste and feel, how urgently he’d kissed her back, how he’d reached out just as quickly to her, wanting everything she gave and giving it back with equal fervor. 

Guilt tugged at her heart but she couldn’t help but feel warm. It had been so… perfect. Losing herself—both sides of herself—and giving in to a single want. Finding out that it was, indeed, all she’d ever wanted.

And she wanted it again, _so fucking much_. 

Max’s suggestions rang in her head. The redhead was right, there wouldn’t be any strings attached, since Mike didn’t know who she was and had no way of contacting her. He was smart enough to know being involved with her was dangerous, and maybe, just maybe—

 _Holy fucking shit, you’re not actually considering abusing your anonymity just to make out with Mike again, are you? Are you fucking crazy?!_ she screamed at herself.

 _But he did like it,_ she argued back, _it’s not like he’d be against it. Would it really do that much harm?_

She blinked, coming out of thoughts as a pair of mourning doves fluttered out of a tree, cooing as they swooped across the pale, frigid morning sky. The absurdity of her own mental conversation made her roll her eyes at herself, and, noticing she had in fact caught her breath, she shook off all thoughts about Mike and took off again, bouncing across the city until she found made it to the warehouse where her street clothes were hidden, glancing around and seeing no one, familiar or otherwise. 

After she changed, tucking her mask and suit into a nondescript backpack, her feet made their way to the bus stop and the bus pass was swiped, the low rumble of the engine soothing her as she gazed out the window. The usual traffic and bustle, the morning rush as everyone made their way to work or school, so easy to fade and disappear into. All of the excitement and confusion from the night before had faded into an overall satisfaction, at keeping Mike safe and not giving away who she was—even though the insane part of her had wanted to. Badly.

So far he’d been the first person who’d made her want to break rule number one. Not even Will had tempted her as much. Maybe Max was right to a certain degree after all, maybe she could just stick her head in now and then. Make sure he was okay, at the very least, and nothing else. Until the Brenner thing blew over, she still had a good reason too anyways. It wouldn’t hurt to say hi since he knew she was there now.

 _What am I going to say when I see him at work?_ She let out a puff of breath that fogged the bus window, dulling her reflection. _God, pretending like I didn’t kiss him… is going to suck._

The bus slowed and then jerked to a stop, hydraulics hissing, and Jane stood, not so lost in her thoughts that she would miss her stop. Going up the stairs pulled at her stitches and she had to go slow, body aching as the painkillers wore off, her body too tired to immediately notice the slumped figure sitting on her couch when she walked in to her apartment, tossing her backpack onto the floor as she headed for the kitchen.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?”

Her whole body turned toward the voice on instinct, sinking into a fighting pose, fists raised, but the second she realized it was Hopper’s familiar, grizzled face staring at her from her couch, she relaxed. 

“Jesus Christ, Hop! One of these days I’m going to actually knock you out, stop sneaking into my apartment,” she scolded, staggering back a bit. “I was at Will’s house last night, as usual. A bunch of thugs attacked me on the roof, I fought them off but luckily he wasn’t even at home.” She decided he didn’t need to know about Mike’s involvement, figuring it would only get her a lecture. It’s not like she had _tried_ to pass out on his roof so he would nurse her back to health. “Then I went to Max’s to get patched up. My beeper got smashed, there were like ten of them, sorry. I got back as soon as I could.”

She shrugged off his irritation, knowing it came from concern and not actual anger, and turned to head into the kitchen, desperate to dig into the Chinese leftovers she knew were waiting in her fridge before she would hop into the shower. Luckily she didn’t have a shift that day, meaning she could actually rest and maybe get some sleep before she headed back to Mike’s house. 

She wasn’t ready for the words that followed her, Hopper’s voice full of dismal regret.

“They took Will, Jane. Last night, sometime. He’s gone.”

Her footsteps staggered and she barely caught herself on the doorway, whipping to face Hopper so fast it made her side throb and her ribs ache. The grim sag of his lips told her he wasn’t lying, and she felt her heart stop, every vein frozen as ice choked her throat. 

“B-But I—” _I was just there._

“It was a diversion, the attack at the house? They must have known you were there and sent some goons to keep you occupied. I was beeping you all night, kid, but you couldn’t—” His voice broke a bit and he cleared his throat. “The roommate, he was at the house, did you see him?”

“Y-Yes,” she managed, too distraught to be bothered by the question. 

“He called it in this morning after he went to check. Will never came home last night and the comic book shop he’d been watching for his friend was a mess. There were signs of a struggle—a shotgun and some blood were found. I think he tried to fight back, but there were too many. I…” Hopper looked away. “I haven’t called his family yet.”

Jane felt her heart sinking more and more by the second. _Joyce is going to be…_ She couldn’t even think of a word. The satisfaction she’d felt had instantly turned into disappointment in herself—and fear. _How could I be so stupid? Of course it was just a distraction. They don’t give a shit about Mike_.

It was her fault. She should have figured it out. But she’d let herself get distracted, let herself lose sight of why she’d been there in the first place, and now Will was gone. Because of her.

Her shoulders tensed as she stood up straighter, jaw setting. “Well, where’s Brenner’s base, Hop? I’ll go and get him and bring him home.”

At that Hopper snorted, shaking his head. “You know I couldn't do that, even if I did know. You’re just one person, kid. You can’t fight an entire nest of monsters, not even with your mind.” He let out a long sigh, looking tired. “Besides, we’ll have to figure out where they’re keeping him first or they’re just going to use him as a bargaining chip. We have to wait—”

Jane exploded.

“We _can’t_ wait! You know what they do to the people they take!” Her side throbbed as she hiccuped out a sob. “It’s _my_ fault he became a target at all! And I didn’t think last night—I knew he wasn’t home and I just accepted it. It’s my fault, Hopper! _Mine_!” she shrieked, hot tears biting at her eyes. “I don’t _care_ what happens to me, I have to get him _back_!”

“Jane—”

“He has _family_ and _friends_ and a whole _life_ , I can’t just let him get torn apart! You _know_ what they do to people, you’ve seen the bodies. How am I supposed to just let that happen to him?!” It came out as a harsh whisper, the words too dangerous to even be yelled despite the storm of fear and anger and self-hate that spun inside her chest like an ugly, black tornado. “How am I supposed to sit here and wait while they—they—”

She trailed off as another sob bubbled out of her, reaching up to wipe away her pathetic tears.

Hopper said nothing, but his eyes softened and he took a few steps forward, his arms quickly engulfing her as more sobs broke out of her throat. She wanted to fight him, to shake him, to demand the location of Brenner’s hideout so she could storm out and bound across the city and find Will. So she could fix all of it.

But instead she just sobbed harder, gripping onto the older man who somehow always knew what she needed even when she didn’t. 

“I’m s-sorry, Hop,” she hiccuped, muffled in the tan fabric of his shirt. “I-I tried—”

His arms held her tighter, hand rubbing across her upper back. “I know, kid. It’s not your fault. It’s _never_ your fault, remember? You can’t be everywhere. You can’t do it all. You didn’t know.”

 _I’m going to find him_ , she promised silently to no one, or maybe everyone. To Hop, to Will’s mom and brother, to his friends. To herself. Fuck the rules, it was time to break at least one.

_I’m going to get him back if it kills me._

&&

The plastic chair creaked every time Mike breathed. He’d felt frozen to the hard surface since the deputy had stood in front of him and confirmed his worst fear, the police station waiting room fading away as the words left the uniformed man’s lips.

_“I’m sorry, but it looks like your friend was abducted.”_

Abducted. Kidnapped. Taken. 

His mind was spinning all the synonyms over and over, trying to figure out what to do, what the next step would be. He’d already called Dustin, who had jumped into his car and was on his way back from Hawkins at the moment. Jonathan and Nancy were on some journalist assignment in Nepal, out of touch, but Mrs. Byers was hopping onto the soonest flight in Indy and would be in later that, hoping to talk to the detectives and be able to spread some light on who would do such a thing. Mike hadn’t been able to get ahold of Lucas, and it sent a tiny shiver of fear down his spine, but he figured his friend was probably laid up in bed with whatever girl he was seeing. He could have left a number, at least, but it the smallest of Mike’s current problems.

Now the payphone was hung up, loved ones notified, and Mike was left sitting in that damn squeaky chair, waiting for any of the officers to find out something. To get a tip, to discover some clue, to do what they were supposed to do.

While Mike just sat in his chair feeling fucking useless.

 _I have to do something. I can’t sit here. Someone took Will, and I don’t even know who they are or why_.

It was driving him crazy. Will didn’t have enemies. He only really talked to his artist buddies and people who wandered into his gallery, maybe the odd pot dealer here or there, but no one malicious. He was quiet and gentle, kind and earnest. It would take a lot for him to really offend someone to the point of being kidnapped. His mom still worked at Melvald’s back home, Jonathan and Nancy were starving journalists in NYC or on assignment, and Will himself had been struggling with the finances of running a business, so there was no way he’d been taken for a ransom.

What else could there be?

No matter how many times he wracked his brain, he couldn’t think of a single thing that would make Will a prime target. And if there was no clear motive, there was no way to know who could have done it. 

_If I’d gone over sooner none of this would have happened. If I’d tried calling the second I realized he wasn’t home… maybe I could have saved him_.

The guilt that had been choked by panic suddenly climbed his throat, a bitter taste on his tongue as he hung his head, resting his forehead in his palms. 

_But you let yourself get distracted. You got kissed by one pretty superhero and you forgot you had a fucking brain_.

It’s not like he’d had a choice helping Eleven—she’d been injured and in pain and had needed him. But the warm glow that had hazed his mind after her departure had been his own damn fault. He’d been so lost in the thought of her soft lips and warm eyes, her mysterious words, that he’d passed out on the couch without another thought of Will. 

He’d even dreamed about her. Chasing a mysterious shadow until he caught up to her, Eleven, his hands tangling into her hair, her arms around his waist, as their mouths met, her body pressed to his. His fingers had found her mask, pulling it away, revealing a familiar face, the face of the woman he _wished_ he could kiss, the stunning barista who shared his theories and laughed at his jokes, Jane.

He’d jolted awake, sweating, knowing something was wrong but unsure if it had been the cruel twist in his dream or the eerie silence of the empty house. That was the moment he’d realized Will hadn’t come home, when he’d hopped on the bus and found the broken glass and torn comics across the floor of his friend’s shop.

The dream had become a nightmare.

All at once he stood, unable to sit still for one more _fucking_ second while Will was out there somewhere, probably scared out of his mind, alone. The realization hit him like a cold splash of water, gasping him out of his misery.

Eleven.

_She said she’d been on our roof. Guarding us. Guarding Will. She knew he was in danger. She has to know who took him. How we can get him back._

It was the only thing he could think of, a potential lead the cops would shake their heads at. The local superhero wasn’t exactly beloved by law enforcement, Mike had read several articles where the police commissioner had pleaded with the public not to rely on a telekinetic woman smashing through their windows to help them, to call the police. Mentioning her now would only get him laughed at.

And besides, he already had an in. Sort of. He had saved her life after all, the least she could do was answer a few questions, right?

 _Wait, shit, I have no idea how to contact her_.

She hadn’t given him the impression he was going to get her number, but hoping she would show up again at his window seemed too passive. Especially now that the reason she’d been there was now gone. Maybe she already knew, maybe she was on her way to save Will _right then_. 

Either way, he knew he had to try and find her.

Mike snorted, glancing around the lobby before striding out of the station, leaving the city block behind him as he pounded his way down the sidewalk, the cogs and wheels in his mind turning, running the problem through his head over and over. Surely _someone_ knew how to get ahold of Eleven, she’d been running around the city for too many years now to not have allies. It was like Spider-Man or Batman. She had to have an Alfred or Mary Jane, right? 

_Hopefully not a Mary Jane,_ he couldn’t help but muse, the ghost of her lips making his own tingle. _Maybe an Aunt May._

Walking into the empty house was harder than Mike thought it would be. Will’s absence was suddenly so obvious, no loud music blaring from his room as he worked on a painting, or humming from the kitchen as he made them all eggs. Sure, at least one of the four of them always went home on long weekends, Will included, but usually if Dustin and Lucas were gone, Will was there to keep the house feeling like… home.

Mike couldn’t help but glance into Will’s room as he walked past it, the sight of the stacks of canvases and neatly made bed another knife in his already ragged heart. His own room still looked the same, though the bed had been stripped while his linens were in the laundry. Washing away the proof that his late night encounter hadn’t been a fever dream. 

He ignored it, pushing his chair away from his desk and switching his computer on, booting up Windows and double-clicking AltaVista so hard he accidentally opened up multiple windows. AOL took it’s usual time to load and he bit his lip and leaned back in his chair, leg jiggling up and down furiously. Dustin was the one who loved chat rooms the most, Mike had only wandered through a few, not caring for how aggressive people tended to be. But he was familiar enough to find the local Chicago ones, sifting through until one titled “Supers Among Us” caught his eye. It took him half a second to click. 

The chatroom was empty. 

“Shit,” he hissed, slumping back into his chair. There went his only shot. 

_Ding_

The sound startled him and he looked up at the no longer empty chat. 

_008: Hello_

Mike felt his heart start to pound, frowning at the screen. Where had this person come from?

_008: This place is usually empty._

Setting his fingers on the keys, he stared another few seconds before he began to type. 

_TallPaladin: That’s too bad. I was hoping to get some help._

_008: Help with what?_

The reply was almost instant and Mike decided he had nothing to lose. 

_TallPaladin: I need to contact Eleven._

_008: Need to confess your love?_

Mike felt himself flush, quickly typing back his reply. 

_TallPaladin: No. My friend was abducted last night. I think she knows by who._

_008: Why do you think she would know?_

_TallPaladin: Because she knew he was in danger in the first place._

_008: Another bold assumption._

Mike clenched his teeth, tapping the keys harder. 

_TallPaladin: Not an assumption. She told me herself. We met, I helped her out. Now I just want her to return the favor._

_008: You helped Eleven?_

_TallPaladin: I saved her life._

There was no immediate reply but the mysterious person stayed in the chat, and Mike had no choice but to wait. After a few more minutes there was finally a new message. 

_008: I know how to get Eleven’s attention. Meet me here._

There was an address in the next message that Mike didn’t recognize in the slightest, but he didn’t get a chance to reply before 008 vanished and he was once again left alone in the empty chatroom. Grabbing a pen and notepad he scribbled the address down, quickly snagging a heavier jacket and a folded map of the city he kept in his desk, feeling a weird sort of nervousness churning in his stomach. 

Part of him wanted to wait for Dustin or Lucas, but knew he didn’t have time. If he could get Eleven on his side, he and his friends would actually have a chance. 

Glancing back at the once-safe house he’d called home for the past few years, he took a deep breath. Without Will it would no longer be the same, there was no denying that. He had to at least try.

Forcing his mind to quiet it’s panicked attempts at logic and ignoring the anxiety fluttering just below his ribs, he turned and headed for the nearest bus stop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favorite thing now is writing max and hopper as actual lovable and rounded characters to defy their shallow counterparts in season three. yes, i am still salty. max as an er nurse is confirmed tho, so i guess that's nice at least, since i wrote that before s3 came out. called it!
> 
> to be honest, when i was writing my first outline, i didn't think it would get so dramatic so quickly but there's a lot that needs to happen and we're almost halfway there! i really need to work on chapter seven... and like, actually finish this story. 
> 
> anyways, thanks for even being here, i hope you know you're loved.
> 
> -g


End file.
